To Break Her Chains
by grum
Summary: Posting frozen story. Story is undergoing complete rewrite. This is the pre-rewrite story. *Complete.*
1. The Summons

Hello all,  
  
I have decided on a major rewrite of book1, for several reasons, so I no  
longer need to goin new prereaders. I am unsure how much this rewrite  
will change the overall story, but since the current story as it  
stands now will no longer be changing regularly to accomodate changes in  
later storis, and since it stands reasonably well on its own, I am going  
to post it a bit at a time.  
  
I hope you enjoy, and any comments you make about this story will be  
taken into account as my rewrite proceeds.  
  
Thanks!  
  
P.S. The following chapter is in fact updated, as a result of the first  
prereader who responded to my request. Thanks, Andrew!  
  
---  
  
The Summons  
  
  
An oppressive silence and a darkness deeper than pitch shrouded the  
massive rectangular room, concealing its purpose and design. Had there  
been light, an observer would have seen that the walls were formed of  
heavy stones of irregular shape. Though the stones were not uniform,  
they were carefully placed, and in no place was the mortar between them  
thicker than a quarter of an inch, a testament to the skill of the  
builders.   
  
Had the hypothetical observer been familiar with the ways of magic, the  
intricate designs inlaid on the floor and ceiling would have made its  
purpose immediately evident. The perfect circles, bounding precise  
pentagrams, with sockets at certain points, perhaps for candles, or  
incense, or other purposes; the way the designs were constructed of  
indentations in the otherwise perfect marble, well-suited to accepting  
chalk or blood; the numerous runes carved into the tiles formed by the  
crossing of the lines, and the stacked tiles in a corner that implied  
the tiles were replaceable, perhaps to repair damage, perhaps to change  
the runes for differing purposes; all pointed to the fact that this was  
a summoning room.   
  
An observer, had it been possible for any to attain this room through  
the powerful wards that protected it, could have learned much about the  
room's owner by the observations that could be made here. The observer  
would have to be familiar with magic to make the right deductions  
though; for most, the sight of the perfectly clean floor, with not the  
slightest sign of cracks nor stains, nor the least bit of dust or chalk,  
would conclude the room was unused.  
  
A magic user, on the other hand, would see only the signs of magical  
cleaning, and would not be in the least surprised by such, knowing that  
a true summoner would never allow the slightest bit of contamination  
near the summoning platform. Drawing powerful beings to the summoner's  
plane, and binding them to the caster's will being a terrifically  
dangerous exercise, the most minimal of contaminants could spell the  
death of the summoner.  
  
The primary circle on the marble floor was fifty feet across, a sign to  
the observant and knowledgeable that the summoner to whom this room  
belonged was among the truly powerful, for rare indeed are the summoned  
beings that attain such stature.   
  
The apparently haphazard collections of books and scrolls in racks along  
the walls of the room would also have furthered the misapprehensions of  
an observer unfamiliar with the workings of magic, lending to the belief  
that the summoner was an untidy or lazy man, or at the least,  
disorganized. Another mage, on the other hand, would see it as the sign  
of a summoner with a potent memory; a memory so clear that the summoner  
could easily remember the location of every item in the room, for a  
summoner could not be anything less than completely scrupulous and  
meticulous in his work, or he would quickly be dead.  
  
The tables filled with complicated structures of glass tubes, piping,  
and containers, containing strange mixtures of liquids resting in  
silence would indicate the summoner was possessed of a considerable  
alchemical talent.  
  
At the same time, the knowledgeable observer would have recognized the  
insufficiency of the present materials for true alchemical research, and  
might, if sufficiently swift of thought, have come to the correct  
conclusion that the summoner was so powerful and confident as to summon  
powerful beings for the sole purpose of obtaining an ingredient such as  
a horn or hair to complete an alchemical formula, whether directly  
from the summoned being, or by forcing the being to obtain it, and  
therefore was prepared to have the formula on hand, ready for the  
addition of the latest acquisition, and the swift punishment of the  
summoned if the component was not as requested.  
  
Indeed, an observer could have learned much if any had been there, or  
even been able to obtain a description of the room. But the massive iron  
door that rose twenty feet high on one wall, and stretched ten feet  
wide, had never witnessed the passage of any but the summoner and his  
closest servants. The builders of the room were long dead, and no  
description was left by their hands. The room itself was so powerfully  
warded against all forms of scrying that a god would have had  
difficulties observing the summonings that went on therein. Indeed, the  
only beings aside from the summoner and his servants that knew the  
interior of the room were those that he summoned.  
  
So the silent darkness was yet undisturbed when the summoner approached.  
As the door swung inward in utter silence, torches set in brackets on  
the walls flared to life, casting a flickering light across the room,  
though they did not burn nor release smoke.  
  
A tall lean figure, almost human in appearance, save for the pointed  
and unusually long ears and the long white hair that was at odds with  
the surprising youthfulness of his face entered, shoving the massive  
iron door casually aside with light pressure from his fingers. There  
was an air of power about the man, and a strong sense of command. His  
face was undeniably handsome, but marred by a sardonic grin and cold,  
hard eyes. A single fine white scar trailed down one cheek. His face  
was smooth and free of hair. Not merely clean shaven, he looked as  
though he had never had any facial hair. It would have seemed the  
face of a child, were it not for the hard lines of his cheek bones and  
sharp nose.  
  
Following close behind the man, a wildcat loped into the room. It was  
nearly four feet long and strongly built. Its fur was a very deep black  
that seemed to absorb the light that fell upon it. Its eyes were yellow  
and calm as it gazed about the room. It had a peculiar air of  
intelligence about it, as if it might actually understand what it was  
seeing, in the manner of a man.   
  
The cat was followed by a peculiar two-foot tall creature. It was   
somewhat human in appearance, standing on two legs, having two arms,  
and a nearly human face. But its legs had two extra joints, looking much  
like the back legs of the cat, and two bat-like wings sprouted from its  
back. Its facial appearance was ugly and twisted; it had two horns and  
fangs that protruded from between its lips giving it a bestial   
appearance.  
  
The tall figure set quickly to work, moving with swift, silent   
assuredness to one of the tables, where its elegant hands and long  
delicate fingers caressed an elaborately carved oaken box, before  
flicking it open, with but a mumbled word to disable its many magical  
protections. He drew forth from it several pieces of chalk, unused,  
sharp edged.   
  
He spoke another word, louder and more clearly, and the torches suddenly  
stopped flickering, and flared up to a brightness that made the light in  
the room equal that of the midday sun. The most direct effect of this  
was the almost complete absence of shadows on the central pattern in the  
floor. Even the grooves running through it were lit to the bottom, and  
the four sources of light cancelled out each other's shadows.   
  
The brilliant light and the resulting lack of shadows made the design on  
the floor look curiously unreal, as if it were a painting by an artist  
who had forgotten or discarded realism.  
  
The man set to work with almost casual ease and yet with great care  
and precision, as he laid out a circle on the floor. This circle was  
much smaller than the large circular design of the floor, being only  
slightly larger than the space that would be taken by a human sitting  
lotus style. The cat watched in near-silence, padding about on  
muffled paws to eye the man's work, but carefully avoiding the  
chalk already laid down, purring occasionally, as if to indicate his  
approval of one of the more intricate wards. The man stood, finally,  
after thirty minutes of careful and continuous work, and looked at his  
completed design.   
  
"Do you think it will hold him?" he asked, his voice deep but smooth,  
with a hint of its underlying sensuousness. The cat padded slowly around  
the circle, looking at each ward in turn and considering each with an  
air of intelligence and complete understanding. It spoke in a smooth,  
purring voice, "It would hold the one we knew. But how changed is he?  
What gifts might the Lady have given him?"  
  
"He cannot use the Lady's gifts against me, I am under the protection  
of another. Any divine powers he has been given will be useless. I  
have held her servants with a similar circle before. I think it will  
do." He looked at the circle, and said a single word, in a calm clear  
voice. The chalk shimmered and glowed, and when the glow faded, the  
markings were clear and sharp edged, with none of the appearance of  
chalk.   
  
Through all this the smaller semi-human figure, which any magic-user  
would recognize as a homonculus, a magically created servant, sat silent  
on a table, watching. Its time for action had not yet come. Its task  
would be scrubbing of the blood from the floor of the summoning room,  
and wherever else it splattered. This task could not be left to human  
servants as none were ever permitted to see this room. So it would fall  
to him, for he would work tirelessly and without complaint.   
  
The man began drawing out a much larger circle, laying the chalk in the  
course of the design inlaid on the floor, which completely enveloped the  
smaller chalk circle. "He knows I have not the power to command him once  
summoned, so he will not be expecting me to summon him for any reason  
other than to gloat." he said to the cat as he carefully drew in the  
next ward. "I will bring him in just before I finish the last sigil in  
the greater summoning circle. I want him to have just a few moments to  
appreciate the depth of his failure and the completeness of my triumph,  
before I summon the demon to rip his heart out."  
  
"Then why do you not summon him now, and give him that much more time  
to be miserable, Master?" the cat wondered, purring with delight as he  
pictured the complete despair and final misery of his Master's enemy in  
his mind.   
  
"Because I have not the strength to hold him for that long and I have no  
wish to leave him enough time to figure a way out. I want to give him  
only enough time to realize the completeness of his defeat before the  
end," was the man's measured response. He was careful and thorough,  
wanting nothing to mar his final victory. This would be a great moment  
for him, as he defeated his most powerful enemy, and struck a blow  
against the Lady that would be sensed around the world and felt for  
centuries to come.  
  
"Of course, Master," replied the cat, purring once again, "and what  
demon are you going to summon? The Enemy is still a potent warrior."  
  
"Simple. I am going to take advantage of his fears. What does he fear  
most, Licius?"  
  
"Cats!" was Licius' instant response, followed by a deep rumbling purr,  
and an almost laughing meow.  
  
"Precisely. So I shall summon a cat demon, and his own fears will  
prevent him from defending against it."  
  
"Master, I felt the increase in your power when you made your, ahem,  
deal with the Ladies... but you still have not told me the details of  
the deal... might this not be a good time?"  
  
"Very well, Licius. It is simple, really. The Sisters have had a  
long-running competition... feud, actually, for some time now. They  
finally decided to stop wasting their power attacking each other  
directly, and fight through mortal champions. So they looked to the  
world and chose the most powerful pair of mortal enemies they could  
find, to be their champions."  
  
"A great honor, indeed," Licius purred.  
  
"Yes, quite," Fey replied dryly, examining his latest sigil. "The  
agreement is that they each devote a percentage of their power to us. We  
choose the form the divine gift takes. When I defeat Arkus the Ladies'  
feud shall be ended and I will be well rewarded."  
  
"But you face many other challengers, as does Arkus. What of them?"  
  
"The Ladies are aware of them. If either of us is defeated by a human  
challenger, then the Ladies will give us the power to drive out their  
soul and take the body. After all, if they defeated us, they must be  
more powerful, right? At that point in time, we will get to make again  
the choice of divine gift, to choose something more appropriate to the  
new body. That is what Arkus just did," Fey's voice was taut with  
disgust. "He lost to that damned white wizard, and now he's chosen  
divine immortality, the fool. It made him into an extra-planar being,  
capable of being summoned, and that will be his downfall." This forceful  
statement was followed by the complete absence of a peal of maniacal  
laughter. Not every egotistical evil sorcerer plays true to form.  
  
Licius examined Fey's just-finished sigil, purring his approval. Looking  
up, the cat asked, "You think he chose the immortality because he was  
afraid of death, even though he had just experienced it?"  
  
"Precisely. The fool realized he was mortal and vulnerable, so he sought  
to defend himself against other mortals, instead of against me. Very  
unwise of him. He hasn't studied the gifts well enough. Divine  
immortality just means he won't age, and becomes an extra-planar being.  
He can still be killed by a mortal, or a demon."   
  
Fey looked thoughtful for a moment. It really, now that he thought about  
it, did not seem like Arkus to be so driven by fear... but then again,  
"I do not know. Maybe it was not that. Maybe his new body is old  
already, and that frightened him. If it was human, he would have to  
worry about dying of old age or physical disability, and there is  
nothing in the rules about that. Maybe he realized how close he came to  
losing, and feared what the Lady will do to him, after he fails."  
  
After nearly two hours of careful preparation the immense circle was  
almost complete. It lacked only the final sigil, which would name the  
demon to be summoned. He wanted his enemy to see his doom with utter  
finality. It was time to summon him.  
  
The preparations being completed and the man's power being what it was,  
it took but a single word to activate the inner circle, summoning his  
enemy to stand before him.  
  
He stood straight and tall in the inner circle, though not as tall as  
the dark figure outside it. His robes were white as snow, and he held a  
tall wooden staff, slightly twisted and intricately carved. His hair was  
as white as his robes, his face was lined with age, but his limbs were  
strong, his eyes were clear, and they flashed now with amusement. "You  
always were an impetuous fool, Fey. Think you that you now have the  
strength to command me?"  
  
Fey's eyes lit with a savage glee. "I need not command you to destroy  
you, old fool. Look around you, Arkus, consider what you see. Look upon   
your doom, old man, and despair!" Thinking he had finally discerned  
Arkus' true reasons for his choice of gift, Fey looked to press  
the knife home, and so emphasized both Arkus' newly old age, and his  
imminent failure.  
  
Fey waited, as Arkus considered the runes about his feet. Hmmm. Fey  
has done well. Were I solely stronger in what I had known, I should not  
be able to break this. He has protected himself against the divine  
powers the Lady has given me, but he is clearly unaware of the other  
gifts of the Lady. He has placed no protection against psionics here.  
Not surprising, considering how uncommon it is in this world. Arkus  
considered the runes for another moment, then scanned the outer circle.  
He means to summon a demon to destroy me, the fool. I'll have to arrange  
a surprise for him. Even as he thought this, his eyes had come full  
circle, and were again observing Fey.   
  
Seeing Arkus' eyes again upon him, Fey dropped lightly to his knees, and  
began drawing the last sigil. Instantly Arkus realized his intent.  
The fool doesn't realize my fear of cats is gone. Well, I'll use it  
against him then.  
  
Arkus focused his mental power, and cautiously reached out to Fey.   
Determining that Fey had no natural defense, and that there were no  
spells focused on defense against psionics, he reached into Fey's mind,  
and slightly adjusted Fey's mental image of the sigil.   
  
Fey completed the sigil, wholly unaware that he had been manipulated,  
and stood with a flourish. Arkus carefully schooled his features into  
the proper rictus of despair and dismay. It was calculated to reassure  
Fey that all was perfect, and that Arkus truly believed that the  
summoning would have the desired effect. He needed to prevent Licius,  
Fey's familiar, from having time to examine all the sigils. His ploy  
worked.   
  
Fey immediately snapped out two words, the first solidifying the chalk  
circle, to which Licius gasped out a concerned, "But Master," only to fall  
silent again at the second word.   
  
Fey had already activated the summoning.  
  
---  
  
In a forest on the island of Hokkaido, in Japan, a young boy of seven  
paced steadily through the woods. Some twenty miles from him an older  
man wearing a bandanna around his largely bald head tramped after him,  
following the trail of deep scratch marks through trees, underbrush, and  
soil.   
  
Occasionally the old man would stop and feel the scratches in a tree to  
sense the residual ki signature, judging from its strength how far  
behind he was. While he didn't know for sure how strong the boy's ki  
claws were, he had felt a tree just moments after the boy had sliced it,  
so he knew how strong the residual should be.   
  
Each time he felt a tree, he would sigh. The boy was steadily getting  
further and further from him. At least this time the boy hadn't attacked  
him first. The last several times the boy had gone feral he had  
nearly killed him, the boy's own father. Ungrateful wretch.   
  
Surely this wild behavior wasn't the legendary Neko-ken! It was just  
another example of the boy's failure to learn the style. After all,  
surely it wouldn't be called an ultimate fighting style if it made the  
martial artist chase butterflies and lie in sunbeams? No, impossible.  
The art of Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu is about control, as are the other  
martial arts. No way this uncontrolled, wild behavior could be the  
expected result of a martial arts training technique.   
  
Meanwhile the boy continued his steady pursuit, following the scent of  
the deer he had picked up. Every now and then, he would casually slash  
at a tree as he went past. He wasn't marking his territory, merely  
announcing his presence to any potential competitor in the area. A cat  
of his human age would be ready to mate and therefore would be  
announcing himself to potential mates, but the body he was in was not  
ready and so this possibility did not make itself known in the cat's  
mind, whose maturity matched the body's maturity, and not its  
chronological age.  
  
Suddenly he paused, crouched in the underbrush, tense but still. There,  
in the clearing ahead of him, head down, grazing, was the doe he had  
been tracking. Neko-Ranma was not yet old enough to hunt for real. He  
was still at that stage of maturity where little kittens or cubs are  
playing mock games with each other and their parents. But he had the  
instincts that rule kitten's behavior, and his instincts were telling  
him to sneak stealthily up behind the deer, spring out from his   
concealment, and grasp its neck in his jaws, suffocating it and breaking  
its neck. Even as he leapt from concealment, there was a flash of light.  
The deer bolted away from the now empty but strangely disturbing  
clearing.  
  
Several hours later when Genma finally reached the clearing he spent  
nearly an hour puzzling over the signs. He could see the deep impression  
of claws in the dirt beneath a bush where Ranma had pushed off into his  
leap, but for the life of him, he couldn't find where Ranma had landed.  
He saw the tracks of the deer, but no blood. If Ranma's claws were  
digging holes in the dirt there was no way he could land on a deer and  
not spill blood. Besides, the deer's tracks were not suddenly deeper, as  
they should have been had a sudden weight been introduced to its back.  
  
He then tramped out a half mile from the clearing, and using a few  
distant mountains as landmarks he walked slowly in a massive circle  
around the clearing looking for signs of his son. Finally, he reached  
the original trail where his son's tracks had ended and set up camp.  
Perhaps his son would return here. Perhaps he was here still, watching  
from high up in a tree. He would have to let the boy sleep off the cat.  
The boy would then return to his father. He was sure of it. The boy  
would not desert him. Surely not. Or his wife would kill him. He   
shivered as if a sudden cold breeze had blown past him, as in his  
mind, he saw his wife's katana flash before him.   
  
---  
  
Neko-Ranma blinked at the sudden brightness, then bounced off something,  
and scrabbled to his feet on hard stones. Neko-Ranma uttered a deep  
plaintive wail at the loss of his toy. Fey was about to turn red with  
fury at the utter failure of his spell when the summoned boy mewed,  
and Fey finally noticed the deep gouges in the floor where the boy had  
first landed. A strange and utterly peculiar cat-demon, but a cat-demon  
nonetheless. Fey stood tall and straight. He uttered, in a strong and  
commanding voice, towering menacingly over the demon, "Kill him now!"  
He pointed towards the entrapped Arkus.   
  
Arkus, meanwhile, had been expecting the summoning to be a complete  
failure, but recovered his composure quickly. He reached out mentally.  
Finding the mind of a cat, he adjusted its perceptions so that it would  
see this menacing figure as a male cat, invading his territory, and  
threatening him. It was harder than he expected, due to the cat-mind's  
relative immaturity, but Arkus managed to implant the suggestions in spite  
of the difficulty.  
  
Neko-Ranma hissed, and slashed at the intruding cat. His hand hit the  
spell-wall, and went no further, but the bindings were meant to hold a  
being of magic and demonic power, and did not stop Ranma's ki. The power  
of the human spirit is not a common thing to find in demonic beings, so  
it came as a complete and utter surprise to Fey as he felt the claws rip  
into his face. An instant later he was dead, his face completely ripped  
off. Licius, Fey's familiar, collapsed in pain, dying as the bond to his  
master pulled him as well.   
  
As Fey died the binding spell on Arkus failed and he disappeared in a  
flash of light. But the spell around Neko-Ranma was far stronger than it  
needed to be, meant to hold a powerful demon, and so had not yet failed  
by the time Fey's body collapsed across the spell-wall. This caused the  
spell to fail in a completely different manner. Rather than releasing  
Neko-Ranma back to his home plane, he was released into this plane.  
  
Neko-Ranma growled at the dead man, still seeing him as a male cat  
intruding in his territory. In a peculiar way, this action of Arkus had  
an unexpected side effect. If the male cat was intruding in his   
territory, then this was his territory. He padded over to the dead man,  
nudging him to be certain he was dead, and then reaching down to grasp  
the dead man's neck in his jaws.   
  
Neko-Ranma intended to drag the man away, but before he could act on it,  
the black clothing of the man disappeared, and reappeared on him. The  
clothing was responding to Neko-Ranma's utter belief that this was his  
territory, such that it recognized him as the legitimate master of this  
place. This place was his, so he must be the master. This was a   
necessary addendum on Fey's part. The divine gift had gone to Ranma  
immediately, but most of Fey's magic would not bind to him until it felt  
Fey's will, to ensure the inability of the body to resist Fey's takeover  
of it. Arkus' actions had ensured that the spells were convinced this  
had occurred.   
  
Neko-Ranma panicked, and whirled around the room, hissing and snarling  
as he tried to get rid of the tight fitting black clothes. In the   
process most of the room's contents were damaged until Neko-Ranma   
finally found the iron door, tore a hole in it, and fled down the hall.  
Finally he came to a stop as the hall ended in a turn that led to more  
stairs that led down still further. Exhausted, panting, he collapsed in  
a heap, and fell to sleep. As he lay sleeping the ripped and tattered  
shreds of black cloth clinging to him began to slowly mend, and the  
minor cuts and abrasions he had received quickly faded, his skin   
becoming smooth and unbroken again.   
  
---  
  
Arkus floated in an infinite blackness, lacking even the slightest   
variation in any direction to provide a reference. There was no air, and  
so no movement of it against his skin to anchor his senses, no scent to  
touch his nose or mouth and guide him. The only sensation of location or  
motion came from the confused signals his inner ear gave out. He had  
long since learned to tune them out. There were no references here to  
use, because there was no need. He drifted in silence, waiting for his  
Lady's attention.  
  
He was caught up in a pleasant daydream of what his reward might soon  
be, for defeating his enemy so soundly. Though Arkus knew well the  
dangers of assuming his enemy's defeat... Fey had come back from much  
more serious wounds... a wound that took his life would take nearly a  
day to heal... but this death had been so unexpected, that Arkus allowed  
himself the luxury of imagining that Fey had had no defenses up, and so  
would have been torn from his body before his powerful magics could  
begin to heal him.   
  
He was still drifting in this gentle reverie, when finally, a voice  
sounded in the darkness, seeming to fill it. The voice was feminine, but  
utterly hard and cold, and from the first word, the way she said his  
name, he knew suddenly that he had failed.  
  
"Arkus, you are a fool."  
  
"Fey did not die then, Lady?" Arkus queried, and was about to continue,  
to point out that it was at least a setback for Fey, when she  
interrupted him.  
  
"Of course he died, you imbecile!"  
  
"But, but, Lady, if he died, then wh..." Arkus was at a loss. The sudden  
surge of triumph at her words fell quickly to ashes within him, as he  
realized that there was something still very wrong. He had not just been  
the catalyst for Fey's rise to demi-godhood, surely?  
  
"Silence, cretin! Speak no more." Arkus felt his tongue cleave to his  
mouth, silencing his imminent plea. "You changed his summoning, and  
tricked him into allowing himself to be defeated. I would commend you,  
had you not been such a complete idiot!" She was screaming in fury now.  
"That cat-thing that killed him, Arkus, you putrescence, that was a  
human boy!"  
  
Now, suddenly, the terrible consequences of his success fell home to  
him. She had said Fey had died... that meant he had not taken the body,  
even though it was now his. That meant... oh dear. The boy was now a  
champion, recipient of a divine gift, and inheritor of all Fey's  
power... but wasn't in service to either of the Ladies?  
  
She spoke again, calmer now. "We've won, Arkus. What a bitter way to  
win. Fey lost, and by rights, all of his power, and my sister's gift,  
should now be yours, and mine. Instead, they're in the hands of this  
outworlder. You've won the game, and thrown away the prize."  
  
Arkus was about to swear to the lady that he would slay the child, and  
take back the gifts, when she screamed in fury, then spoke again in a  
cold voice vibrating with anger. "You fool! That boy destroyed Fey with  
a single blow! The agreement was with Fey, not him. If you kill him, he  
simply dies. You won't get his gifts... but if he were to kill you, he  
would gain all you had!" She was shouting now, in her rage. "You will  
not go near that boy, Arkus!"  
  
Then her voice was quiet and soft again. "You are still my champion,  
Arkus, and I have your power and gift, while my sister has nothing of  
Fey left to her. We have won, even if it is a bitter victory. I am not  
wholly displeased with you. I can feel your desire, and I grant it. You  
may watch the boy. Put no influence on him directly, but if through  
indirect means he comes to worship and follow me, you will be well  
rewarded."  
  
Her voice faded, and he found himself once again in his own castle. He  
moved quickly to his scrying room. "I must know what form the gift takes  
with the boy."  
  
---  
  
He had been sitting there most of the night. He always had to leave the  
castle when Fey went to do his summonings... he was simply too sensitive  
to the emanations the spells put out. So he hunched over his mug of ale,  
his seventh that night, grumbling to himself. Fey had told him that he  
intended to complete his long-term plan to remove Arkus that night. Then  
the wars could be renewed without outside interference, and Fey would  
soon rule the Five Kingdoms with Krall at his right hand.  
  
Krall felt a sudden burning, searing pain in his face, as if he had  
just been clawed. He was not unfamiliar with the sensation... he had in  
fact had his face ripped open during fights for dominance before. But  
this time the pain was there, but not the damage... he put a hand to his  
face and it was whole. Krall jerked upright knocking over his mug of  
ale as he felt the touch of his Master leave his mind. Fey was dead! Now  
was his hour of triumph come! Arkus must have defeated Fey, but he would  
not know of the arrangements Fey had made, that would soon invest Krall  
with Fey's power, and bind the dragon bitch to him! Then he stood, anger  
vibrating in his taut form, as the other patrons of the inn backed away  
fearfully. He growled, threw several coins down, and raced through the  
door onto the streets. He didn't slow until he was outside of the small  
village, and into the forest. There he let out his rage, howling into  
the night, into the blackness of the sky.  
  
It was his! It had been promised to him, for slaving his bloodthirst to  
his master, it was to be his, but his master was dead, he felt him die,  
felt the slash across the face, the sudden searing pain, and the almost  
instant absence of the master in his mind, but nothing had come for him.  
He stood in the darkness, waiting, tense with rage, and still nothing  
came. It had been promised to him! Why was it not coming?  
  
He roared his fury, and his body rippled, clothes disappearing as his  
already impressively muscled form grew still larger and stronger,  
sprouting thick black fur, as he swelled into his hybrid form. He was  
the master of Lord Fey's forces, the general of his army, Fey's  
right-hand, the promised and chosen successor of his Lord, upon his  
death. To him was to have come the great power of the Lord, but it had  
not! He felt nothing... not true... he felt diminished! The power lent  
him by the Lord as his General was gone, stolen from him, as was what  
had been promised to him.  
  
The thief, whoever it be, would pay, and pay dearly for this, the beast  
swore, howling his rage and fury. Arkus, he decided, it must be Arkus  
who had done this. Well, then Arkus would die.  
  
  
  
  



	2. An Unremembered Act

An Unremembered Act  
  
  
Ranma awoke with a start, sitting up in a sudden but smooth motion.  
Before his bleary eyes could clear, he heard a thick, sultry voice.  
"Ah, you're awake, Master." He rubbed his eyes, and looked  
around. He only got to the point of noticing that he was sitting on a  
huge bed, wearing nothing but a black wrist guard, before noticing the  
stunningly beautiful woman sitting on the edge of the bed, even now  
leaning alluringly toward him, her silk nightrobe hanging loose, giving  
him a perfect view of her assets. She had lustrous black hair that  
reached down to her waist, and smooth white skin, and a tightly  
muscled stomach, and full breasts. He dove beneath the covers. "I'm  
sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't see nothing, really, honest, uh, please, uh,  
please don't hit me, I'm sorry, I wasn't looking." Finally he paused for  
a moment.   
  
Whenever his father had been caught looking at a woman, the lady would  
instantly start to attack him. But he hadn't been attacked yet. He heard  
a soft, low chuckle. "Why does the Master fear his servant?" she asked.  
He felt her hand on his shoulder through the blankets and sheets, then  
he felt her drawing them back, uncovering him. He realized with  
sudden shame that he was wearing no clothing, nothing at all, and sought   
desperately to cover himself, as she pulled away the covers. "You seem  
uncomfortable, Master. If you do not want to be unclothed, why do you  
not clothe yourself?"   
  
He looked around frantically, still covering himself, looking anywhere  
but at her. "Where are they? Where are my clothes?"   
  
"Master?" she asked, looking confused. "What do you mean? You know you  
have only to think of it, and your clothing will appear."  
  
He looked at her finally, desperate, and saw the honest confusion in her  
eyes. Could she be right? It didn't make any sense, any more than her  
constantly calling him Master. He kept expecting her to suddenly realize  
that he wasn't whoever she thought he was, and attack him for deceiving  
her. But she didn't. Hoping frantically, he concentrated on picturing  
what he needed most, and suddenly he was wearing a pair of black silk  
boxers. He breathed a sigh of relief, then asked, "Wha... where...  
where'd they come from?"  
  
As he saw the confusion deepen in her eyes, he tensed, again expecting  
her to suddenly realize that he was not who she thought he was, and  
attack him. While he sensed no real fighting ability in her, the fact  
that they were on this bed said to him that they were in at least a  
large house, and there were probably others within easy calling  
distance. If she called out, he might be forced to attempt a quick  
getaway, a very difficult thing when he had no idea of the layout of the  
house. When he saw sudden comprehension dawn in her gaze, he pulled his  
legs beneath him, ready to leap, his eyes darting suddenly around the  
room, taking in the huge closet, the massive wardrobe, the open paper  
door to a large bath, and the massive oaken doors that must lead  
outside. "You are not the old master in a new form," she breathed out  
slowly, and he gulped, and prepared to leap, "You are a new master."  
She smiled suddenly, and it seemed to light the whole room. "You must  
have defeated him! Such power in one so young. Is this your true  
form?"  
  
He looked at her aghast. She had realized that he was not her master,  
and then simply decided that he was anyway? This made no sense. "True  
form? What'd ya mean by that?," he asked, edging slowly backward, toward  
the edge of the bed. "Who'd I defeat? I don' remember fighting nobody."   
  
"But you must have. You wear his clothing, the spells that bound me to  
him now bind me to you. You must have defeated him," she said, almost  
desperately, looking around with wild eyes, as if expecting someone to  
suddenly appear. "He can't just be playing with me. He can't! He would  
never have given you his clothes, not even to play a trick on me. It  
would be too dangerous." She was breathing rapidly now, and he could see  
her fear rising.   
  
"Don' worry. Don' be afraid. I'll protect you from him." he said  
suddenly, wanting to stop the tears he saw glistening in her  
eyes. He hated to see women cry. "Jus don' cry. Please don't cry."   
  
She suddenly reached out, and gathered him to her, holding him  
tightly, as tears fell from her eyes. Sobbing under her breath, he could  
hear her chanting, "He must be dead. He must be dead." He could feel her  
heartbeat, thudding against his back, and the warmth of her pressed  
against him. It caused no response in him though. He was still to young  
for that. He felt only an urgent desire to stop her tears, to comfort  
her, to erase her fear, and thought desperately, trying to think of a  
way that he might have defeated someone and yet not known it.   
  
He tried to remember how he had come here, and finally he remembered  
sitting at the fire with his father, having just finished their meal,  
when a large wildcat had appeared. It was foaming at the mouth, and his  
father had jumped up shouting "Rabies" and run from it nearly as fast as  
Ranma himself had.  
  
"Neko-ken!" he said suddenly. "I could'a defeated him in the Neko-ken  
and I would'n a remembered anything. I never do." Her tears stopped, and  
she sniffled. A sudden dread fell on him. She had been chanting, "He  
must be dead." If he had to be dead for Ranma to have his clothes  
(though it disturbed him to wonder how she recognized his boxers) then  
that meant Ranma had killed. A cold shiver went through him, and sudden  
tears sprang to his eyes.   
  
"No. No, I didn't. Please no. Tell me I didn't! Oh, Kami-sama, I killed   
him. I'm a murderer. Damn you, Oyaji! I'll probably kill again. I won't  
even remember it." She held him through his sobbing tears, rocking him  
back and forth, and trying to comfort him. When his tears finally  
slowed, she tried to reassure him that the man he had killed had been  
thoroughly evil, that he had deserved to die. "Maybe. Maybe it wasn't  
wrong to kill him. But I didn't know that. I could'na known. I just  
lashed out. It could'a been someone that didn' do nothin'." His look of  
sorrow suddenly turned to a look of pained determination. "But I have to  
know. I have to know if I really killed him."   
  
He extricated himself from her arms, and jumped lightly off the bed.  
Closing his eyes, he concentrated again, trying to picture himself in  
his typical clothing. When he opened them, he found he was indeed  
wearing his traveling gear, except that they were all black. "Weird." He  
sighed, and turned to the lady. "Please, get dressed. I need ya to help  
me find him." She shivered, but nodded, and slid off the bed, and walked  
into the closet. He sat cross-legged on the floor to wait for her.  
Several minutes later, she stepped out again, dressed in an elegant  
kimono of green silk, and held out her shapely hand for his.  
He rose lithely to his feet, and she led him out the door.  
  
She watched him as he walked down the halls, turning where she said. He  
moved, she thought, with an unusual grace, and an even more unusual  
silence. He seemed like an animal, graceful and sure in his movements,   
with an abundant but hidden power. She shivered in delight, remembering  
the hard lines of his body as he sat on the bed. She quickly suppressed  
the thought. He was too young to want that of her, and his lack of  
reaction when she held him confirmed that this was his true form.   
  
The magic bound her to love him, but as she recognized his unwillingness  
to accept her in that role, it allowed her love to take on a more  
maternal air. She noticed that he looked small for his age. He certainly  
didn't look like he had lacked for exercise... perhaps he hadn't been  
well-fed?  
  
She stopped him at the bottom of a flight of stone steps rising between  
walls of stone. "I found you, young Master, at the mid-flight of these.  
The last time I saw the Master, he was going to the Summoning Room,  
which is at the top of the stairs. I suspect we shall find something  
there."   
  
His step as he walked upwards started light enough, but by the time they  
reached the landing where he had lain, his step had grown heavy, and his  
shoulders had drooped. She paused behind him, feeling for his obvious  
pain and depression, as he stared down at the small bloodstains where he  
had lain.   
  
He knew he had no injuries on him, so this blood was not his. This only  
served to confirm his fears, and his depression grew. She offered,  
though with visible trepidation, to go on ahead, and verify the death,  
so that he need not see it, but he cut her off. "I gotta see. I can't  
just hide from what I did. I... I gotta face it."   
  
She marveled at his strength of will, to do what he so obviously wished  
not to have to do, with no one there telling him it was necessary. This  
was a boy she might have come to love even without the strength of the  
magic that bound her to him. His speech was uncouth, but his heart was  
pure.   
  
With a heavy sigh, he walked up the stairs. As he neared the top, his  
shoulders straightened and his step firmed, though she could still see  
the depression and fear in the soft features of his youthful face.   
  
He looked up, and started in surprise, then pointed at the door.  
"Oh man... No way... Wow! Well, I was definitely in Neko-ken." She  
gasped in awe. The three inch thick iron door had a hole slashed through  
it, the edges jagged and sharp. A strong light shone through the hole in  
the door, glinting off the iron filings that covered the floor.   
  
So strong, so much power, and yet so young. She felt a momentary twinge  
of fear. It was known that some powerful mages, when faced with a  
challenge for physical combat, would bind the souls of demons to  
themselves, to strengthen and give them great fighting ability. Surely  
this must be what the boy had done, for how else could he have appeared  
in the summoning room, and how else could he have torn through a door?  
Yet she sensed no evil from him, nor even a hint of the demonic, nor had  
she even when she had found him sleeping, surely scant hours after he  
had been possessed. It did not make sense.   
  
She watched in silence as the boy walked up to the door, and strove to  
open it. He had no magic sense, clearly, or he would have seen that the  
door was warded and sealed. Yet he had broken through it. Even now, to  
her utter amazement, he was slowly forcing the door inwards. While she  
knew the wards would have been weakened by the old Master's death, they  
were physical magic, not like the summoning which required constant   
effort. They had physical form, and true power was in them, which did  
not need to be held. They would work for anyone, even after their  
creator's death, and yet this boy was forcing them backwards. He  
certainly seemed too uneducated to be a mage. But then how did he have  
the power to carve a path through an iron door?  
  
With a sudden crack and flare of light, the door burst inwards, and they  
both covered the eyes, and then gagged at the stench of blood. As their  
eyes adjusted to the brightness, she saw a little man, who she  
recognized as the old Master's homunculus, trying to straighten some  
books.   
  
The whole room was in complete disarray. The chemicals on one wall were  
spilled and mixing on the floor, contributing to the miasma in the air.  
The glass pipes that had held them were shattered, some still hanging in  
their fixtures, cleanly severed. The books and scrolls along the walls  
were largely shredded.   
  
On the floor lay two bodies. One, tall and lean, the body of the Master,  
a massive pool of blood surrounding his head as he lay face down, the  
other a large cat, lying motionless, not even breathing, on the floor  
some distance away. She turned back to look at the boy, and watched as  
the horror in his eyes faded to anguish, then hardened to a look of  
steel.   
  
"Never again," she heard him say under his breath, then he turned to  
leave. "Come on, please, I gotta get out of here," he said in a  
trembling tone, then under his breath, "I gotta be strong," then again,  
firmer, "I killed him," and he sobbed suddenly, then took a deep breath,  
"I gotta bury him."   
  
He did not look at her as he said this, hands clenched by his side, but  
simply turned and walked to the door, and started down the stairs. She  
followed quickly after, as happy as he was to leave the stench of death  
behind. He seemed to have simply ignored the homunculus, or had he  
perhaps not seen it at all? Often those with no magic-sight could not see  
beings of such pure magic.  
  
"You need not worry yourself, Master. I will have the other servants  
take care of it."   
  
"Yeah, all right. I gotta think for a bit. Is there someplace I can just  
be alone, sit and think? They can get him ready, and maybe get him some  
clothes or somethin'. But I gotta bury him." The pain flickered in  
his gaze, and she marveled again at his strength of will. So young.  
He must want to collapse in tears. How will he be able to live with what  
he has done? Yet he is strong. It would be much easier on him if he were  
not so good in his heart.   
  
"Very well, young Master, it will be as you say."  
  
"And after, we can talk about why you keep on callin' me that," he said,  
the pain even more evident in his voice. She sensed that it was not the  
Master's death that pained him now, but somehow her words that had hurt  
him. She shrank inside. She loved him, and yet she had hurt him, but  
she did not know how. "But right now I just wanna be alone for a while."  
  
So she led him outside, to a small rock garden, and left him there.  
  
---  
  
When all was in readiness, a few hours later, she returned, and found  
him sitting on the rocks in lotus position, the calves of each leg  
resting on the thigh of the other, focused on a single rock before him.  
When she approached, he stood smoothly. "You know," he said in a soft  
voice, "I still don't know your name."   
  
"Nor I yours, young Master," she replied, and this time she noticed the  
visible wince at her words. She was troubled. She was causing him pain,  
but since she did not know how, she could not stop. There was no  
alternative but to ask him. She hoped he would not say that she pained  
him by her presence. She did not want to leave him. "Master, what am I  
doing that causes you such pain? Please tell me," she entreated him.  
  
"It's nothing," he said, suddenly firm in tone again, "Is the,"  
and he paused, a look of agony on his face, "burial site r-ready?"   
  
"Yes, Master. Follow me, and I will take you to it." He followed  
silently behind her, and she wondered why it was so important to him  
that he bury the old Master. She did not think it was a mere matter of  
symbolism, of emphasizing his defeat. Certainly, he had not insisted  
that anyone be there to witness, as a leader might do to ensure that all  
recognized the validity of his claim, though she had made certain that  
there would indeed be witnesses... all of the castle staff, though not  
the Lord Fey's war leaders. No, somehow, he was motivated by his pain,  
in a way she couldn't quite understand.   
  
When they reached the garden, he saw that the man's body had been  
clothed in black cloth, wrapped about him, more a shroud than clothing.  
His face was covered with several layers, and he lay upon a stone. An  
open coffin was beside him. It was made of a dark wood that glistened in  
the sun, and the interior was of a deep velvet in a rich red. Further to  
one side was a shovel, lying on the ground, and a gravestone, set in the  
ground, but devoid of any markings, its flat surface smooth and shiny.  
  
He walked over to the body, and stood before it for several minutes,  
oblivious to the large crowd standing some distance away, and equally  
unaware that the lady had followed him, and was close enough to hear his  
words. "Oh, Kami-sama, I'm sorry. Maybe you did deserve to die, like the  
lady said. But I didn' wanna kill ya. I don't know all I did, or how I  
got your clothes. But I promise ya, I ain't gonna stop till I'm in  
control again. I don' wanna ever kill somebody again. And I specially  
don' wanna kill somebody and not even remember doin' it. It just ain't  
right."   
  
Then he turned, and walked over to the shovel, and picked it up. He set  
it against the ground in front of the gravestone, placed his foot on  
it, and drove it through the grass, and deep into the soft earth.   
  
  
  
  



	3. A Life in Chains

A Life In Chains  
  
  
Several hours later, he followed the lady into a large hall. A massive  
and unbelievably long table sat in the center of the hall, and at the  
far end, two chairs sat, the larger at the end, the smaller to the right  
side.   
  
He followed her to the end, and stood for a moment in surprise as she  
took the smaller chair, leaving him the larger chair at the end, then  
sighed and sat. He looked at her for a moment, surprised at the sadness  
in her eyes. He was about to apologize again when she spoke, startling  
him. "Master, will you tell me now what I am doing that is hurting you?  
Please." Even as she said the first word, he winced.  
  
He sighed, and in a low voice, said, "Lady, I'm real sorry for killing  
your husband, even if I couldn't help it, and even if he mighta  
deserved it. But I certainly didn't kill him to take what was his, least  
of all you." She felt a sharp pain in her heart at his words.   
  
"I ain't your Master, Lady. I dunno why you keep calling me that. Was he  
your protector or something? Are you afraid that you'll have no-one to  
protect you if I leave too?" Her heart fell to her feet when he  
mentioned leaving her, and tears appeared in her eyes.   
  
"I won't! I won't leave you. I'll protect you, if you want me to. Don't  
cry, please don't cry," he responded quickly to the sight of her tears.  
"Just don't call me that. I'm not your Master."  
  
"But you are," she said emphatically, even as he shook his head. "He was  
not my husband, young Master, he was my Master. I was bound to him, and  
now I am bound to you."   
  
"I don't understand. You said that before, about bein' bound. Whatcha  
mean by that?"  
  
She sighed. How to explain this... "Young Master," she began, and he  
immediately interjected, with a look of pain on his face that tore at  
her heart, "Please stop calling me that. My name's Ranma. Saotome  
Ranma."   
  
"Very well, Ranma. I am bound by magic to serve and love my Master. I am  
bound to you."   
  
Ranma jumped out of his chair at this, stumbling backwards. "What?  
Magic... love!?" He looked scared out of his wits. "No, no, I don't want  
that. You can't want that! How do I stop it?"  
  
She looked hurt. "You don't like me? You don't want my love?" Tears  
sprang into her eyes. Her heart felt like it would break, and she could  
not stop the pain, nor the tears. she knew that the emotions came  
from the old Lord's spells, not her heart, but she could not fight their  
strength.  
  
"No, no, its not like that. Please don't cry. Its just... magic... its  
not right that you should be forced to love me. Its not right! Please  
don't cry." He was back at her side instantly, holding her in his small  
but strong arms. "Please don't cry." He felt terrible. She had looked so  
sad and small and vulnerable saying that. He felt like he had hit her,  
when he saw how she took his words.   
  
He scraped his courage back together. Though he knew he was responsible  
for protecting her, after killing her... well he wasn't her husband, but  
surely he had been responsible for her... Ranma couldn't just leave her.  
But if he found someone who could take care of her... He needed to get  
back to his father before Genma got really mad. "What would you do...  
if... if I left?" he asked, dreading her response.  
  
"I'd die," she said, in a choked whisper.   
  
"You'd kill yourself," he said in a soft voice filled with shame and  
horror. Genma would have to go on without him. He could not be  
responsible for her death.  
  
"No," she replied, "I'd simply die. The magic won't let me live without  
my Master." She sobbed. She knew he didn't love her, he couldn't love  
her. He was too young, too young to love any but his family. He would  
leave her, for she could not refuse to aid him in returning to his  
father, whom he surely must love, and she would die, and she would never  
see her beloved sister again. Oh how she hated the old Master, now that  
he was gone. She hated him, because she had loved him first, a true  
love, UN-forced, and he had betrayed her, trapping her with magic, and  
now that the magic love was gone, and the original love dead by  
betrayal, he was still going to drag her into death with him.   
  
"I won't leave you." he said, simply, and quietly. He reached out  
with his small arms, and held her close. "Don't cry. I won't let you  
die." She believed him, comforted by the sincerity in his voice, and  
held him tightly, still sobbing softly.  
  
Finally, after nearly a quarter of an hour, she had quieted. She was  
holding Ranma in her arms now, his arms around her, as he sat in her  
lap. Shifting slightly, he spoke, his voice clear of tears and sorrow  
now, sounding light and sweet. "Lady, you still haven't told me your  
name."   
  
"My name? You may call me Alana, Ranma."   
  
"That's a pretty name, Alana." he said, then shifted again to look up to  
her. "Please don't t-take this the wrong way, Alana. B-But I don't wanna  
stay here forever. I got my Oyaji out there somewhere, looking for me. I  
gotta find him. I gotta train. I don't really wanna ask this of someone  
like you. But can you leave this place? Do you gotta stay here? If you  
could come with me, I promise to protect ya." His eyes pleaded with  
hers.  
  
"Oh you poor child. Yes, I can leave this place. But I don't think we'll  
find your Oyaji. Ranma, that room, upstairs, where you fought my old  
Master... that was a summoning room. He brought you here, Ranma, from  
somewhere else. This isn't your world." She felt her heart break again  
at the pain and fear in the blue eyes of the child she held. "I'm sorry,  
Ranma. I'm really sorry."   
  
She almost laughed at the sudden almost comical look of determination  
that appeared on his face. "Well, then, we'll just haveta find us  
somebody who can set you free and send me home." Her heart nearly broke  
again, but for a very different reason. This cute, comical, sweet little  
boy was actually placing as much emphasis on setting her free as on  
getting himself home. He had someone who truly loved him, who would do  
anything and everything for him, and all he wanted was to set her free.  
  
"I'm sorry, Ranma. I really am. But the only person who could have set  
me free was the old Master. You could, if you knew enough magic. But no  
other magic-user can do it. But I can send you home." She saw his face  
light up again, then dim as he saw the look of sadness and despair on  
her face.   
  
"You couldn't come with me though, huh? You'd have to die to send me  
home. I won't letcha. I won't." He hugged her fiercely again, and she  
wept, again. So pure of heart. So strong of will. She realized then  
that even if he did one day manage to free her, she would never be free  
of love for her little Ranma. "So I have to find somebody to teach me  
magic then. So I can free you. Do you know someone?" He looked at  
her, that fierce look of determination on his face again, and she felt  
her heart leap.   
  
"Yes," she said softly, "I do know someone. If you really want to learn,  
I will teach you, Ranma."   
  
"Alright," he said, "But I gotta keep training. Are there martial  
artists on this world?"   
  
"Yes," she laughed, "there are. I will bring Sensei's here to train you,  
Ranma."   
  
---  
  
That night, as Ranma sat alone in his room, he considered all that he  
had seen that day. His father had always told him that women were silly  
and weak, and when he had cried, his father had beat him, telling him  
that he was behaving like a weak girl. He had cried again that day,  
after realizing that he had killed. Even worse, he had killed  
unknowingly, without being able to decide if it was right and honorable.   
  
The Lady had held him, and comforted him, and it had helped, he knew  
that. Crying was good therefore, he decided. It had rid him of some of  
his pain. He remembered the look on her face, the terrible pain in her  
eyes as she held him, crying against her, and realized that he... he had  
hurt her with his tears. It had been good for him... and it had hurt  
her.   
  
For once, Ranma agreed with his father, in a completely unexpected way.  
Had he stayed with his father, he would have been beaten until every  
aspect of his femininity had been beaten from his mind, until he reacted  
to the possibility of emotion with harsh retorts and insults designed to  
prevent any emotional closeness that might let another share his pain.  
  
Though he was now free of his father's influence in this respect, Ranma  
made a choice, and he chose to follow his father's path. But without the  
beatings, the continual conditioning of his unconscious self, this  
determination would manifest in a very different manner. Instead of a  
defense of automatic emotional reactions, Ranma began building barriers  
in his mind, locking his tears and pain away.  
  
He had studied meditation under his father very early in his training.  
His father did not care much for meditation, and had used it only as a  
tool to get Ranma in touch with himself, to help him achieve his  
balance. Now Ranma began using it to wall away his emotions. In his mind  
this became a wall of ice, a coldness that held back the heat of his  
anger, the fire of his pain, and soothed them until there was nothing  
but numbness left.  
  
It would take time, he knew, and so he set aside a half-hour each day to  
spend in his meditation, building the emotional barrier, strengthening  
it, striving to make it an integral part of his mind.   
  
So it was that Ranma set out on the path of the Soul of Ice.  
  
---  
  
Krall made his way back to the massive encampment where Fey's permanent  
war force trained and prepared. There, he knew, he would learn of what  
had happened. He must be cautious, though. If Arkus or another warlord  
had taken control, they would likely have orders to capture all the  
higher officers, to force them to take magically binding oaths of  
loyalty, or perhaps to slay them out of hand, if the new ruler had  
generals of his own.  
  
So it was a wolf that slunk into the encampment in the darkness of that  
second night, and padded silently from tent to tent, listening to the  
endless gossip. The death of the Lord Fey was a popular topic,  
unsurprisingly, but there seemed very little discussion of who had  
replaced him.   
  
Krall heard enough to know that it was a small being, child-size, though  
he knew well enough not to judge power by stature. Fey had been a much  
thinner man than Krall, but was physically stronger. This new Lord might  
well be one of the faerie folk, or a dwarven elementalist, or even a  
demon. Krall had little thought of facing him directly, knowing that  
with his own power reduced by Fey's death, instead of enriched, he had  
little hope of defeating one who could defeat the Lord Fey in his inner  
sanctum.   
  
Krall pondered, wondering whether Fey had succeeded in his intent before  
dying. Had the summoned being destroyed Arkus as well, or was that  
blight still out there, lurking somewhere? Krall shook in fury as he  
heard a few of his subordinate generals commenting on the fact that the  
new Lord had already been accepted by the Dragon Fang, the Lord's sword.  
That was to be mine, he growled to himself, before slipping through the  
shadows out of the encampment. He would find work in another army, for  
now, but he would have his revenge.  
  
  
  
  



	4. The Dragon's Fang

The Dragon's Fang  
  
  
Ranma stood at the bottom of a long flight of steps, leading up the side  
of a hill, through the trees. He sighed. Somewhere lost in the trees  
above him was the Masaki shrine, where he would have to convince an old  
priest to train him with weapons. Ranma was not comfortable with the  
idea, and so his steps were slow as he began to make his way up the long  
flight.   
  
The Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu emphasized the weakness of a warrior who was  
dependent on a weapon, but Lady Alana had insisted that he had to learn  
to use and wield the Dragon Fang, Fey's weapon. She had insisted that  
formal challenges for Fey Castle, that he was honor-bound to answer, had  
to be defended with weapons lest his opponents be insulted. He remained  
resistant, until she pointed out that if they felt insulted or slighted,  
they might declare war, instead of accepting the outcome of the bout,  
that convinced him. He could not be responsible for putting Lady Alana  
in the path of a war, when she could not flee because of him.   
  
As it was, she was forced to put herself to sleep, and accept the grave  
risk of death should he not return promptly each week, to allow him to  
attain the training he would require. It pained him to think of her,  
forced to sleep, vulnerable and alone, while he trained, and he vowed to  
himself that he would master the Dragon Fang in record time, and release  
her from her danger.  
  
So resolved, his gait changed. Instead of slowly plodding upwards, he  
now leapt, ten or twelve steps at a time, and in short order, came to  
the flat top of the hill, whereon stood a large two story house, in a  
traditional Japanese style, all sliding doors of paper and thin wood,  
and tall windows looking out over a lake beyond.  
  
Tenchi sighed, pushing the leaves along with his broom. It seemed so  
pointless, brushing away the leaves, when more would fall tomorrow, and  
more the day after, but he worked steadily at it. As soon as he  
finished, he had to go up to Katsuhito's shrine, and train again.   
  
Hearing a noise on the long flight of steps that run down to the road,  
Tenchi looked up. His jaw dropped slightly as he saw the young boy in  
the air, reaching nearly twelve feet above the top of the stairs at the  
peak of his jump. The boy couldn't be much more than seven, Tenchi's own  
age, but Tenchi could see, given the boy's tight black shirt, and  
judging by his amazing leap, that Tenchi was nowhere near this guy's  
condition. Tenchi also noted with interest the black scabbard that hung  
on the boy's waist, pointed slightly behind him. It looked to hold about  
a two foot long blade. Tenchi sighed softly. A two foot blade... then he  
wouldn't be here to learn to use a katana, and Tenchi probably wouldn't  
get to spar with him.   
  
The young boy's gaze snapped directly to him when Tenchi sighed, and he  
leaped again, crossing the fifteen feet between them in a single bound.  
He landed lightly on his feet, barely flexing his knees, then  
immediately dropped into a deep bow. "Greetings, Warrior," he began, in  
a soft boyish tone, at odds with his strong appearance, if not his  
apparent age, "I seek the Shrine of Masaki. Can you direct me to it?" He  
straightened, and looked Tenchi in the eye, his face serious and a   
little sad.  
  
Tenchi bowed in response. "Greetings, Honored Guest. I can direct you,  
but will you not stop, and have some tea? You must be tired from your  
journey." Tenchi knew that Katsuhito would be annoyed with him if he  
failed to remember his manners.  
  
The boy broke into a surprised and delighted grin, falling from his  
formal stance. "Sure, thanks. My name's Saot... uh, no.. uhm... Fey  
Ranma. What's yours?"  
  
Tenchi looked at him curiously. He sounded like he wasn't sure what his  
own name was... but no, that didn't make sense. He must have some reason  
for not wanting to use his real name. Oh well, Katsuhito would deal  
with it, if it was important. It was not Tenchi's place to question the  
word of a guest. "I am Masaki Tenchi," he replied, answering the boy's  
grin with one of his own, "please, come in." He set his broom against  
the side of the house, and stepping up to the door, slid it open,  
gesturing Ranma in ahead of him.   
  
"Please make yourself comfortable at the table there, Ranma-san, and  
I'll get the tea." Tenchi quickly put together the tea tray, eager to  
learn more about this stranger. He was Tenchi's own age, or close to it.  
Would he be staying to study with Katsuhito? Tenchi would enjoy having  
a boy his age around. He had a few friends at school, but they did not  
come over often, and most days he spent alone, except during his hours  
of training with Katsuhito. He brought the tea tray out, and set it  
lightly on the table before Ranma, then poured two cups. Handing one to  
Ranma, he folded his legs beneath him, and sat on a cushion by the  
table.   
  
Ranma sipped at his tea, and smiled at the taste. "This is very good  
tea, Tenchi-san."   
  
Tenchi grimaced. "Just Tenchi, please."  
  
"Only if you agree to call me Ranma. You used the honorific first,  
remember," Ranma replied with a grin.   
  
"Yeah, sorry. What do you want to see the shrine for? Are you looking  
for Grandfather? Or do you want to make an offering?" Tenchi asked,  
hoping to assuage his curiosity while asking a perfectly legitimate and  
polite question.  
  
"Yeah, I guess your grandfather is probably the guy I'm here to see."  
Ranma's face had darkened with pain, Tenchi was surprised to observe. He  
hoped Ranma was not here to challenge Katsuhito. "I gotta get  
trained in the use of my blade, if I can get the Master of the Shrine to  
take me as a student."  
  
"Why do you look so... sad, I guess, about training with Grandfather?"  
Tenchi asked, wondering why on earth Ranma looked so down. Tenchi  
certainly enjoyed his training, even if Katsuhito never seemed to  
think he was good enough at it.  
  
"So your grandfather is the Master of the Shrine, then?" Ranma turned  
Tenchi's question aside with another.  
  
In politeness, Tenchi was forced to answer Ranma's question, and ignore  
Ranma's avoidance of his own. "Yes, I guess. I never heard him called  
Master, but he's the only one who could be, I think. My dad certainly  
isn't. He pretty much ignores the shrine. He works in town all day. Uhm,  
listen, I'm supposed to go up to the shrine for my training as soon as I  
finish my chores, so if you could wait just a few more minutes, I could  
take you up there myself," Tenchi offered.  
  
"Sure," Ranma replied. "Can I help you?"   
  
Tenchi stood up, "No, that's alright. I just gotta finish sweeping the  
grounds, and I'll be done. And I've only got the one broom." He bowed to  
his guest, and walked outside, grabbing his broom. As he swept, he  
thought about Ranma. He had observed him as they drank their tea, and he  
could clearly see the signs of a skilled martial artist. Ranma moved  
with a disturbing grace, and every motion seemed to say 'this could have  
been a killing blow.' It was uncanny.  
  
In a few more minutes, he was finished. He put the broom away, and  
turned to the house to retrieve his guest. Ranma was already standing  
outside the door.  
  
"Lead on," he said. Tenchi led him around the house to the second long  
flight of steps, that led up to the shrine. Ranma followed along beside  
him.  
  
"Uhm. Ranma... you didn't really answer me before. Why don't you want to  
learn to use your sword? I still remember being excited the first time I  
got to train with Katsuhito." Tenchi queried, keeping a light tone to  
let Ranma know that he wouldn't be offended by another evasive answer,  
but genuinely curious. It seemed so strange to be saddened by the  
thought of learning, especially for one who was obviously so skilled  
already.  
  
"Its not that, Tenchi. Its just... well, I'm supposed to be the heir of  
a school of martial arts... and well... No offense, but one of the  
tenets of the school is that a warrior who uses a weapon is weaker  
than a guy that doesn't need one. He is bound by its weakness, see, and  
if ya know what weapon the guy uses, you know his weak spot and can  
attack it. But I haveta learn... No, I have to master... my blade. Its a  
matter of honor, I guess. I gotta be able to defend her." Tenchi looked  
at him curiously. Her? This kid, no older than him, had a girl that he  
had to learn to use a sword to defend? Wow.  
  
"But Ranma, if you know how to use a weapon, and you're just as good  
without it, doesn't that make you even better than someone that is only  
good without one? What if you get in a situation where you have to fight  
with a weapon?" Tenchi queried. Surely Ranma couldn't really believe  
that someone without a weapon was even stronger than someone with one.  
It just didn't make sense.  
  
"That's just my problem. I gotta use a weapon. I dunno. I guess maybe  
you're right. If I keep up my unarmed skills just as good, then using a  
weapon would maybe just make somebody assume I had a weakness that I  
didn't have. Hey, yeah, and then I could use that against them. Wow,  
thanks Tenchi."   
  
Ranma seemed much happier now, Tenchi thought. They had reached the top  
of the stairs, and the door of the shrine slid open, and Tenchi's  
grandfather stepped out. Ranma looked up at him, and decided that this  
tall thin man, with a lined but pleasant face set off by thin   
rectangular glasses that glinted in the light, was far more than he  
appeared. He seemed to have no aura, and little skill, yet in just a few  
of his movements, Ranma could sense his power, and realized that  
Tenchi's grandfather was so skilled that he could almost completely  
conceal his skill and his power.  
  
"So Tenchi... brought one of your friends to watch you train again?"  
Katsuhito asked, smiling.  
  
"No Grandfather. This is Fey Ranma. Ranma, this is my grandfather,  
Masaki Katsuhito," Tenchi replied.  
  
Ranma stepped forward, and bowed deeply. "Honored Master of the Masaki  
Shrine, I beg leave to learn from you the art of the sword. I must  
achieve mastery over my weapon, the Dragon Fang, to fulfill my honor and  
duty. Will you accept me as your student?" Ranma continued to hold the  
bow for a long moment, before rising again, and looking Katsuhito in  
the eye. Tenchi was interested. He thought the speech might have been  
rehearsed. Certainly it was free of the the rough and uncouth mannerisms  
that had peppered their earlier conversation.  
  
"The Dragon Fang you say, Ranma? Let me see it, please," responded  
Katsuhito, holding out his hand. Ranma pulled the sword from the  
sheath. It slid out in utter silence, and gleamed golden in the  
sunlight. Tenchi was quite impressed... it looked very well made for a  
short sword.   
  
Katsuhito accepted it from Ranma, and looked at it curiously. "So you  
are Fey's heir, eh? I don't really know if I should teach one of Fey's  
blood. Your father was a dangerous man, Ranma. I hope you understand why  
I cannot accept you as a student. Please forgive me." Tenchi goggled...  
his grandfather knew Ranma's father? And wouldn't teach him because of  
that?  
  
Ranma did not immediately accept his sword back. Instead he bowed deeply  
again. "I think you do not quite understand, Honored Master. I am not  
Fey's son, though I am his heir. I.." and his voice crackled with  
suppressed emotion, "I killed him. It falls on me therefore, to defend  
the Lady, for she has no-one else. Please, Honored Master, understand,  
evil though he might have been, I did not wish to k-kill him. But I did,  
and I... my honor requires that I master his sword so that I may defend  
the Lady."   
  
When he straightened again, Tenchi was surprised to note the tears  
welling in his eyes, though they did not fall. His face was clouded with  
pain. Could this boy really have killed someone so evil that Katsuhito  
would be unwilling to teach someone just because they were related to  
him? Tenchi goggled at him, realizing that given what the boy had said  
on the stairs, he must have killed him while unarmed! After all, Ranma  
had made it clear that he did not know nor approve of the use of weapons  
in combat. This seven year old kid had killed a man unarmed? Wow.  
  
Tenchi saw Katsuhito's eyes soften as he looked down at the boy.  
"Very well, Fey Ranma. I will train you, until you have mastered the  
Dragon Fang. But first I must train my grandson. Come, sit here, and  
watch, and learn what you can." Katsuhito led Ranma to one side, where  
Ranma dropped easily into seiza, sitting with his legs folded beneath  
him.   
  
"Tenchi, assume!" Katsuhito barked. Ranma sat quietly and watched, as  
Tenchi sparred with his father, their bokkens whirling and clacking  
against each other. Tenchi was quickly sweating, while Katsuhito  
remained cool and collected, offering mild comments on Tenchi's form as  
his bokken whirled and sliced the air.  
  
Ranma considered, and when Katsuhito made a comment about Tenchi still  
knowing the sword was in his hand, instead of using it as an extension,  
he focused on the difference in the two. Katsuhito hardly seemed to  
notice that he was wielding a weapon, while Tenchi seemed to pause an  
instant before each move, as if he had to decide what to do next.  
  
Finally they stopped, and Tenchi slumped to the side to rest. Then  
Ranma stood, and at Katsuhito's request, began a simple kata. Tenchi  
watched wide-eyed, as Ranma steadily increased the speed and complexity  
of his kata. He was moving with unnerving silence, and surprising grace.  
It put Tenchi in mind of the television programs he had seen on tigers,  
the way Ranma's muscles rippled under his skin, his sheer strength as he  
tore the air, the subtle grace of his body as he moved through the   
forms.   
  
Katsuhito, meanwhile, observed in silence, making no comment as Ranma  
finally came to a sudden stop, holding a most untenable position for  
nearly a minute, as demanded by his school's katas, before finally  
relaxing. Ranma turned, and gave Katsuhito another deep bow.   
  
"Now, Ranma, take up a bokken, and we will begin with the forms."  
  
Ranma's ingrained distaste for using weapons became very evident over  
the next few minutes, but before Katsuhito could comment on it, Ranma  
pulled to a stop. "Master, is it okay if I stop and meditate for a  
few minutes?"  
  
Katsuhito, who had been about to comment to Ranma on his apparent  
unwillingness to use the weapon, raised an eyebrow at the unusual  
request. He nodded, and said nothing.   
  
Tenchi watched curiously as Ranma dropped easily into lotus position,  
and closed his eyes. Katsuhito considered his position and behavior, and  
decided that Ranma had had only rudimentary training in meditation.   
  
Ranma had immediately realized the danger his own dislike for weapons  
posed. If he could not rid himself of it, then no matter how skilled he  
became, he would always be aware of the fact that he was wielding a  
weapon... it would never be as an extension of himself. After having  
observed the difference between Tenchi and Katsuhito, Ranma had decided  
that he had to learn to wield as Katsuhito did, using the weapon as if  
it were his own arm.  
  
As he dropped into meditation, he focused on the certain knowledge that  
if he could not defeat his own feelings of disgust and dislike regarding  
weapons, he would never master the Dragon Fang. If he failed to master  
the Dragon Fang, then he would eventually fail to protect the Lady from  
a threat. If his inability to defend against a challenge properly lead  
to war, he knew that he would be unable to properly defend her. No  
matter how skilled he might become, he would not be able to fight  
indefinitely. Faced with a large army, he would inevitably be tired out  
and fall to his own exhaustion, and she would be unprotected.   
  
He could not allow this to happen. He could not fail her. Saotome Ranma  
does not lose! Fey Ranma must not lose either. He focused on his  
feelings of distaste and buried them in ice. Unknowingly, the strength  
of his determination not to fail the Lady led him to achieve the first  
level of the true Soul of Ice, and as he buried his fears and the  
attitudes that Genma had drilled into him, the air temperature around  
his body actually began to drop.   
  
It did not drop far, but Katsuhito was a very observant man. As the air  
cooled, it lost some of its capacity for holding moisture, and the  
moisture began to condense on Ranma. Katsuhito observed that it was not  
sweat, beading up from beneath. Rather, the beads of moisture appeared  
all over, even on top of his shirt and pants. Particularly, he noticed  
the liquid that coalesced on the folds of his pants, where the fabric  
was not even in contact with the boy's body. He wondered where the boy  
had learned such a powerful meditation technique, given his obvious lack  
of training in the meditative arts.   
  
When Ranma's eyes opened, they were filled with a pure determination. He  
rose lithely to his feet, and took up the bokken again. Tenchi was  
unable to discern the difference, but Katsuhito immediately noticed that  
the boy held the bokken without seeming to be really aware of it. Though  
he did not yet have the skill, he had achieved with a single five minute  
meditation the final step that Tenchi had yet to achieve after two years  
of training. Amazing! Lady Alana was right about the boy, he has a  
potential I have never seen in a human before.  
  
Now Katsuhito demonstrated a kata, moving slowly from position to  
position, demonstrating the correct stance, then moving to physically  
reposition Ranma's limbs into the precise positions.  
  
"Now, Ranma, show us the kata." Tenchi looked up in surprise. He had  
shown him the kata only once, and now he wanted Ranma to perform it?  
Ranma nodded, then immediately entered the first stance. Tenchi felt a  
growing sense of amazement, tinged with just a bit of awe, as Ranma  
steadily moved through each stance in the kata. Though moving slower  
than the kata called for at first, after only five stances he had  
reached the proper speed, and was entering each position with clean  
precision and perfect timing. When he finished, Katsuhito spoke again.  
"Again, full-speed the whole way this time."  
  
Tenchi looked at his grandfather in surprise. No word of praise? No  
reaction to such an unbelievable performance? Ranma simply nodded, and  
proceeded to do the kata again. This time his performance  
seemed wholly without flaw to Tenchi.   
  
Katsuhito noticed Ranma's lack of surprise when Katsuhito signaled his  
acceptance of Ranma's performance, not with praise or words, but by  
beginning a new kata. Again Ranma followed him. Katsuhito found himself  
surprised at the boy's skills, as Ranma stopped mimicking Katsuhito's  
stances after Katsuhito completed them, and began matching his moves as  
he made them. Truly an impressive performance, to perform a kata, even  
at this slow pace, in perfect sync, without ever having seen it before.  
I will have to consider carefully whether I can allow him to watch me  
train Tenchi. If I do, it will be the same as teaching him the style of  
Jurai.  
  
At the kata's end, Katsuhito signaled Ranma to do it again, then,  
without turning, spoke to Tenchi. "Tenchi, why don't you go now, and  
prepare the guestroom for Ranma."  
  
"Yes, Grandfather," Tenchi replied, and headed for the stairs. As he  
walked down them, he considered Ranma's performance. He's really  
amazing. I sure never learned a kata that quickly. I wonder if he does  
anything besides martial arts? Tenchi considered again Ranma's words  
as to why it was so important that he learn to master his weapon. Who  
was 'the Lady,' and why was she so important to him? Surely he couldn't  
have a serious girlfriend at his age, especially not one for whom the  
term 'Lady' was appropriate.  
  
When he reached the house, he saw that his father, Noboyuki, was home  
from work. He informed his father that they had a guest, then went to  
quickly prepare the guestroom. He would need to start dinner soon, and  
he did not want it to be late.   
  
They lived nearly an hour by bus from the outer edge of Tokyo where  
Tenchi attended school. He had friends, to be sure, but he tended to see  
little of them except at school or on holidays.   
  
It was Tenchi's hope that he and Ranma might become friends. It would be  
nice to have someone else to do things with. Ranma seemed a rough sort,  
given his speech and obvious skills, but he had not looked annoyed or  
disappointed by Tenchi's manners. Hopefully, then, he would not be the  
sort to look down on Tenchi as a 'wimp' simply because he had been  
schooled in proper behavior, as some of the less pleasant boys at school  
did.  
  
It took Tenchi only about a quarter of an hour to straighten up the  
guest room. He stripped the bed and put on clean, fresh linens, then  
made it up with a thick, warm blanket. He tidied up the rest of the  
room, and as a final touch, placed a number of dried flower petals in a  
bowl of warm water to give the room a pleasing scent.   
  
Then he went back downstairs, absently greeting his father again, and  
went to the kitchen, He put water on to boil for rice, and then started  
cleaning and chopping vegetables.  
  
Noboyuki didn't really notice Tenchi's second greeting, but looked up at  
the sounds of sudden industry from the kitchen, and smiled. He smoothed  
his mustache as he thought again what a delightful boy Tenchi was. After  
the death of his wife... that thought brought a depressed frown to his  
face for a moment, but he resolutely pushed it aside, and smiled again,  
as he heard Tenchi chopping in the kitchen... Tenchi had picked up the  
role, and become the caretaker of the family.   
  
Noboyuki hoped it would not hurt his chances with the ladies, but then  
decided that was unlikely. What with his taking up training under  
Katsuhito, he'd keep in great shape, and the ladies loved a sensitive  
guy. Tenchi'd have no problems in that depart... wait a minute. What had  
Tenchi said when he first came in? A guest? I wonder if its a girl?  
Noboyuki thought, with a sudden lecherous grin... No... wait... He said  
the guest was here for training with Katsuhito. Then it must be a man.  
Oh well, it'll happen eventually. A bit early yet, perhaps.  
  
Tenchi had just finished setting the food on the low table when the door  
opened, and Ranma and Katsuhito entered. "Perfect timing as usual,  
Tenchi," commented Katsuhito, smiling kindly at him, then he grinned  
with a sudden look of sardonic humour. "Hope you made enough. I bet  
Ranma eats like a horse!" Katsuhito laughed lightly at his joke.   
  
Noboyuki stood, and bowed to the guest, who bowed in return.   
  
"Masaki Noboyuki, this is Fey Ranma. Fey Ranma, my son, Masaki  
Noboyuki."  
  
"It is an honor to meet you, Masaki-san," Ranma said, bowing again.  
  
"My pleasure. Here to learn from the old man, eh?" Noboyuki replied with  
a grin. Katsuhito rapped him on the head. "Ow!"  
  
"Dinner is ready, Father, Grandfather." Tenchi placed the dishes  
carefully on the table.   
  
The four sat and began to eat. Had Ranma come only a few weeks before,  
he would doubtless have shocked Tenchi and his family with his eating  
habits. As it was, several weeks of eating with the Lady had mellowed  
him. The habit was not yet as deeply ingrained as it might have been,  
and not only was it no longer necessary to defend his food, but he  
was actually permitted to eat as much as he cared to.   
  
Regular meals were not something Ranma had been accustomed to, but he  
had found that after a short time, it became hard to imagine going  
without. His days of starvation seemed to fade behind him, and so while  
his manners at the table were not polished, neither were they such as to  
draw attention or comment from his dining companions.  
  
---  
  
After Tenchi finished dressing the next morning, he decided to look in  
on his guest before making breakfast for the family. However, when he  
reached the guestroom, he found it empty, and the state of the bed  
indicated it had not been used. Rather, the pillow and blanket had been  
removed, and now lay rumpled on the floor. Tenchi would have assumed  
that Ranma had simply thrown them off upon getting up, had he not noted  
that the bedsheet was still taut and unwrinkled.   
  
Tenchi mused on this as he moved on down the stairs to begin breakfast  
preparations. He paused for a quick look through the windows about the  
downstairs but did not see his erstwhile guest. As he moved about the  
kitchen preparing a simple breakfast, Tenchi considered whether he would  
ask Ranma about it when he saw him again. He had not expected Ranma to  
rise early after a nearly three hour session with Tenchi's  
grandfather... Ah, perhaps Ranma was in the furo, taking a hot soak to  
loosen muscles sore from the previous day's exercises.   
  
A short time later Noboyuki stumbled into the kitchen with a towel  
wrapped around his waist. "Ah... nothing like a morning soak to get  
ready for a long day at work. Breakfast smells good, Tenchi. How's our  
guest? Still sleeping?" Noboyuki laughed lightly. He was aware that the  
boy had had a session with Katsuhito the day before, and sympathized  
with the boy's lethargy.  
  
"No, Father. I had assumed he was in the furo, since he was not in his  
room."  
  
"Nope. Not there, I was just in, and I had to run the hot water. Hadn't  
been used."  
  
"Is Grandfather up yet?"  
  
"Of course I am!" Katsuhito stood at the front door, removing his shoes,  
and slipping into the soft indoor slippers. "Ranma is up as well. He was  
up at the crack of dawn. I found him practicing sword katas while  
leaping about the pillars."  
  
"It is good that he appreciates your training facilities, Grandfather,"  
said Tenchi politely, then continued with a worried frown, "but is it  
wise for him to be attempting to combine sword-play with aerial forms on  
pillars so soon?"  
  
"Heh! Normally I would be the first to agree, Tenchi. A good way to get  
severely injured," Katsuhito responded, then thanked Tenchi as the boy  
handed him a warm cup of tea. He moved to kneel at the table, and  
Noboyuki sat across from him, as Tenchi served their breakfast. Noboyuki  
had somehow managed to get to his room, get dressed, grab his briefcase,  
and return to the table in the few moments it took Tenchi and Katsuhito  
to have their conversation. When the Lady told me he was gifted, I  
never imagined this!  
  
Noboyuki looked at Katsuhito, who was simply grinning at some internal  
thought. "So, Katsuhito, are you implying that it is not dangerous for  
your new student?"  
  
"No, he seems to have already integrated the sword forms I taught him  
into his own personal style of martial arts." I recognize his style.  
Definitely Anything Goes. But his skill! I would expect a master, with  
twenty years of study, to be able to integrate foreign styles into his  
own, but to learn them so quickly, and integrate them so easily... the  
boy is uncanny.  
  
Ranma entered several minutes later, just as Noboyuki was leaving.  
Tenchi set out a breakfast for him, and for himself. Katsuhito had  
finished his, but sat and watched as Ranma ate. Tenchi finished his own  
breakfast and returned to his room and prepared his school bag, then  
rushed downstairs.   
  
After Tenchi left, Katsuhito turned to Ranma, his student, or teishi.  
"Come, teishi, it is time to see what you have made of the forms I have  
shown you. Let us spar."  
  
Katsuhito led Ranma back up the hill to the shrine. He tossed a bokuto  
to his teishi, and took up a second himself. Ranma took one of the  
initial stances Katsuhito had shown him, not wanting to irritate his new  
sensei by beginning from one of his father's non-stances, the stances  
designed to cause an opponent to underestimate him. Though it was his  
usual opening stance, he knew that Katsuhito had his measure already,  
and would not underestimate him, so the primary purpose of it would be  
invalidated. Further, he needed to judge the advantages and pitfalls of  
the forms he had learned.   
  
Katsuhito had already noted Ranma's basic style, having already  
experienced it through the founder of the style, the shriveled and aging  
pervert Happosai. He was well aware that one of the tenets of the style  
was to allow the opponent to make the first move, so he did not waste  
time waiting for Ranma to act, but sprang to the attack.   
  
Ranma parried three of the opening blows in Katsuhito's initial  
attack combination before realizing, too late as it turned out, that it  
had been designed and intended to use his blocks to draw his bokuto out  
of alignment. Even as he realized this, Katsuhito's bokuto flicked  
through the opening he had created, catching Ranma in the side, hard.   
  
Ranma winced, drawing in a gasp at the pain, even as he blocked  
Katsuhito's next attack. He thought he caught a similar pattern,  
intended to draw his blade low, only to discover that it had been a  
feint, and receiving a sharp rap to the thigh when he refused to be  
drawn in.  
  
Deciding that he was not going to be taken out so easily, Ranma firmed  
his stance and prepared to attack. He knew he would get hit... if he  
could not defend successfully while focused on defense, attacking would  
only leave him more open. He was determined to get a hit on Katsuhito,  
in spite of the inevitable cost.  
  
He lashed out when he spied an opening as Katsuhito finished one  
combination, giving him a hard rap on the left hand, and began another.  
It was not an opening in the sense of a gap in Katsuhito's defenses,  
merely a perceived opportunity to begin his own attack.   
  
Ranma tried Katsuhito's second combination, drawing on the third set of  
forms he had been shown, but doubling the feint, intending to strike  
high, since he knew that Katsuhito would recognize the attack sequence.  
The expected hit met only another parry, even as Katsuhito used his own  
knowledge of the form to strike Ranma twice.  
  
In spite of taking regular hits, Ranma persevered, learning the holes in  
the defenses the hard way, as Katsuhito's bokuto pierced them again and  
again to give him new bruises. He used Katsuhito's attacks, slowly  
perfecting them, even as with each attack he mimicked, Katsuhito  
introduced him to the holes in the move with more bruises. When  
Katsuhito again used the move, and Ranma attempted to respond to the  
same holes Katsuhito had used, he learned from Katsuhito's parries how  
to close those holes.   
  
While Ranma never did manage to get a strike in on Katsuhito, the old  
man could not help but be astounded as the match progressed into its  
third hour. The boy was bruised all over, and his face showed the pain  
of his movements, and still he fought on. More impressively, his  
defenses were now tighter than Tenchi's, and he had mastered moves that   
Katsuhito had not yet even introduced to his grandson.  
  
Katsuhito was definitely intruiged. With Tenchi, his spars were  
generally short, unless he held back from actually striking. Katsuhito  
used two types of sparring with Tenchi. Pulled strikes allowed long  
matches intended to build endurance and provide practice against a real  
opponent, and full out matches ended quickly, but provided object  
lessons in defensive holes that corrected the problems far more quickly  
than any amount of explanation.  
  
Ranma, on the other hand, was a genuine rarity, a student whose will to  
learn was strong enough that he would take full-out sparring and  
continue until he dropped. Katsuhito was well-aware of the potential  
this implied. A fighter who trained thus, while he would go through far  
more pain than any ordinary student would be willing to stand, would  
improve far faster.   
  
Katsuhito called a halt to the session, then had Ranma perform several  
slow kata, to his own accompaniment, as a cool-down exercise.  
Considering the boy's stamina, and his innumerable bruises, Katsuhito  
led him back down to the house. Obtaining cool drinks, they went  
together to the furo, where a cold bath refreshed their minds, and a  
long hot soak, with cool drinks to counteract the heat exhaustion,  
brought considerable relief to aching and bruised muscles.   
  
Katsuhito noted wryly to himself that he had clearly been slacking off  
on his own training. It had been many years since he had worked as hard  
as he had today, and he was definitely feeling it. While his old age and  
apparent decrepitude were a mere facade concealing his real nature as a  
prince of Jurai still in the prime of his life, he was more aware in  
this moment than he had been for years uncounted that he was out of  
practice. Training his own grandson was simply not sufficient  
preparation for this challenge, though he would not back down from it.   
  
He did not know the Lady Alana personally, but this was not the first  
time these two worlds had crossed paths. He still remembered the  
intrepid wanderer, and the tales he told, and one of the most vivid had  
been that of the Lord Fey's love and betrayal of the Lady Alana. She had  
confirmed the truth of the stories, and told him of the boy's insistence  
on freeing her, of his surprising purity and honor.   
  
Katsuhito had been decidedly skeptical, being familiar with the founder  
of the school, the aging pervert whose prime use of the art was to steal  
lingerie from women, along with a grope here and there. He was also  
cognizant of the nature of the two spineless cowards Happosai had  
trained, though he had never met them. He found it difficult to credit  
that any such as they could be responsible for this boy, which was the  
motivation for his testing of Ranma at their first meeting.  
  
To his surprise, Funaho, the massive tree that grew by the waters of the  
lake, that none but he knew was in fact the sapling of the ship in which  
he had crossed the galaxy before settling here after defeating and  
imprisoning Ryoko, the pirate who had attacked his homeworld, had  
affirmed that Ranma was not dissimulating in his responses.  
  
Katsuhito looked up, shaking his head slightly. "I'm sorry, Ranma, I was  
thinking of other things. What was it you said, again?" As he sat up,  
his eyes widened as he took in his student's appearance. The bruises,  
with which his body had been liberally coated, were gone. Only one could  
still be seen, on his shoulder, the last to be inflicted, and even as  
Katsuhito watched, it was fading.  
  
"I asked, sensei, whether we were done for the day?" Ranma repeated his  
question, and Katsuhito noted the vaguely dissappointed look in the  
boy's eyes.  
  
"Of course not," retorted Katsuhito, deciding that if the boy healed  
that fast, then he might as well be pushed until he dropped. He would  
survive, and he would learn all the faster.   
  
A short while later, they were down by the lakeside, where Katsuhito  
demonstrated sword forms continuously until it was time to stop for  
lunch. Ranma, he noted, was an uncomplaining student, a welcome change  
from Tenchi, who often complained about the unfairness of life, and the  
harshness of his training. Katsuhito laughed inwardly, as he led the way  
back to the house to make lunch, picturing Tenchi's reaction to the kind  
of training regimen Ranma was being put through.   
  
Lunch was simple, as Katsuhito pulled out pre-prepared meals from the  
freezer, and heated them, mentioning casually to Ranma that he was a  
terrible cook. It was much safer to simply have Tenchi prepare and  
freeze meals than to actually attempt to fix a meal for himself. Even so  
Katsuhito sighed in memory. Achika had made the most heavenly meals, he  
thought sadly.  
  
As they ate, Ranma sat in thought, running over the forms in his mind,  
and considering how to integrate them into his style, and how they fit  
with the earlier forms he had been taught, and the attacks he had  
learned from sparring with Katsuhito. He did not ask Katsuhito any  
questions about them. He had decided, after the sparring session, that  
it would be more effective to simply incorporate them and see how they  
did, rather than trying to make Katsuhito do his thinking for him.  
Improving his own skills at integrating foreign styles was really as  
important as learning the styles in the first place, as that swift  
adaptability was a fundamental aspect of his school of the art.   
  
After lunch, they returned to the upper court, before the shrine, and  
sparred again. Ranma incorporated the new forms he had been introduced  
to, recognizing some of them as the basis for the attacks Katsuhito had  
used on him. Having the basics for the attacks gave him more clarity  
into their purpose and intent, and into what they were designed to  
counter.   
  
Katsuhito noted the significant improvement in Ranma's defenses, as the  
various attacks, defenses, and forms he had learned were finally being  
melded into a cohesive whole, wielded in concert, rather than as  
individually chosen and executed moves, as they had been in the first  
sparring session.  
  
By the end of the first hour, Ranma was no longer receiving constant  
bruises, though Katsuhito still made it through his defenses   
occasionally.   
  
As the second hour drew to a close, Katsuhito realized that he was  
steadily pulling out new moves to break through Ranma's defenses, as he  
was no longer able to penetrate the boy's defense using the moves his  
teishi had already seen. Even the new moves were being observed by the  
inimitable youth, who slipped them in amongst his other attacks,  
occasionally after only a single viewing. While these new attacks were  
as yet not integrated into the overall style, they were still introduced  
far more smoothly than the new attacks had been in the earlier spar,  
since Ranma had a comfortable suite of moves with which to lead into and  
out of any given sequence he wanted to try.  
  
Katsuhito drew subtly on the power of Jurai to enhance his own stamina,  
keeping the sparring going for even longer than they had the first time.  
As they neared the end of the fifth hour, he sensed his teishi finally  
approaching the edge of exhaustion. He stopped him again, and they  
returned, sore and aching, to the bath.  
  
When they exited the bath, Katsuhito noted that his grandson was home,  
and sending Ranma off to practice on his own, went in search of Tenchi.  
He found him in his room, working on schoolwork. Katsuhito walked up  
behind him and set his hand lightly on Tenchi's shoulder, who jumped out  
of his chair with a choked cry. "Aaaah! Grandfather, don't do that,"  
scolded Tenchi, "you nearly gave me a heart attack."  
  
Katsuhito smiled evilly at Tenchi, who groaned in anticipation of the  
upcoming pain, as light flashed off his grandfather's rectangular  
wire-rimmed glasses. "When you finish your chores, Tenchi, bring Ranma  
to the shrine. I want you to spar with him."  
  
Tenchi grinned happily. He had a sparring partner again! Just what he  
wanted, and he wouldn't have to deal with all the bruises Katsuhito  
would give him. After all, Ranma was just a beginner... Tenchi would be  
far better than him... right?  
  
---  
  
Tenchi grew steadily more impressed over the next few weeks, as Ranma  
quickly mastered his sword forms. He was even more impressed when  
Katsuhito took Ranma's sword, the Dragon Fang, and instructed Ranma on  
its use. When Ranma finally said that he felt he had mastered the blade,  
Katsuhito had simply smiled at him, and taking Dragon Fang in his  
hand, he had looked at it for a moment, and it had suddenly become a  
golden katana. "You have only just begun," he replied.  
  
Tenchi watched with interest as Ranma trained and swiftly came to master  
his weapon as a bokken, a katana, a wakizashi, a bo staff, nunchaku,  
and a naginata. He was very impressed when Ranma trained with it as a no  
dachi, a Japanese great sword bigger than he was. It was then that he  
really began to get an idea of how physically strong Ranma was. But  
nothing impressed him as much as when Ranma used Dragon Fang to  
summon/create the Dragon Armor, which molded to Ranma like a second skin  
of golden steel. It wasn't the armor that impressed him really, as much  
as Ranma's amazing ability to perform his katas wearing it, in utter  
silence, and to still leap twenty feet at a time down the stairs while  
wearing it. Of course, Tenchi was unaware that the armor, though it  
looked like heavy metal armor, unwieldy and unmistakeably weighty, was  
in fact as light and easy to wear as the silk clothing that Ranma  
preferred.  
  
He was quietly disappointed when Katsuhito finally pronounced Ranma  
the Dragon Fang's master after only three months of training. Ranma  
seemed quite happy to finally be able to return to his home. Tenchi had  
hoped he might be willing to stay longer, as he had enjoyed having Ranma  
around, and had enjoyed having another partner to spar with.   
  
---  
  
"You mastered the Dragon Fang in only three months. I am proud of you,  
Ranma. You have done well," Lady Alana said, smiling at him. He had  
returned and awakened her, as he had done every week, and then told her  
the wonderful news. "I see that you have learned much from Masaki  
Tenchi, as well. Your speech is much cleaner than it was when I first  
met you."  
  
"Yes, Lady. He was very well-spoken and polite, and I was glad to be his  
friend. I taught him a little about fighting unarmed... a few basic  
katas. He has great potential, though his potential as a swordsman is  
most impressive," he smiled up at her, "but I still wish you would tell  
me how Katsuhito knew of the Dragon Fang, and Fey. You know, at first,  
he refused to teach me. He thought I was Fey's son, and he said he would  
never teach one who had Fey's blood. Since I've gotten to know him, he  
seems so mild. Fey must really have been terrible for Katsuhito to  
dislike him so."  
  
"He was, Ranma, he was. But now, I have another task for you. You wish  
to continue your training, and I promised to bring masters here to train  
you."   
  
Ranma nodded at her, waiting for her to continue. He could almost feel  
the 'But...' coming, and feared she was about to say that she could  
not do so.   
  
"For me to do so, you must do something first. The realm Fey rules has  
long been considered off-limits to outsiders. The only ones who come  
here, are those who wanted to challenge Fey, to take what was his.  
Before I can convince any masters to come and train you, we must make  
peace with the Court of Farallon. They are our largest neighbor. If we  
make peace with them, others will follow their lead, and then we will be  
able to send envoys to the masters, without having them attacked and   
slain on the road."  
  
"It will not be easy, Ranma. They will have great difficulty respecting  
you, or believing that you have in fact defeated Fey, and taken his  
lands. They will see you at first as a joke that Fey is trying to pull  
on them. You will probably have to fight King Dei's champion, Lord Roga,  
to even get an audience with the king."  
  
"I will travel with you, and my word will hold some weight, but it will  
still fall to you to convince them. As much as possible, you must let  
me speak for you, for I know how to avoid giving offense. When  
necessary, focus on what you learned from Tenchi, and avoid uncouth  
speech. They will take it as an insult, if you speak to them thus. Do  
you understand?"  
  
"Yes, Lady. I will do as you say. I must train, and if to train, I must  
convince these Lords that I am who I say I am, then I will do so. But  
I thank Kami-sama that I can do it by fighting," he replied, seriously,  
then, laughing, continued, "Tenchi or no, I am not good with words."  
  
"Did Masaki show you the secrets of the Dragon Armor, Ranma?"   
  
"Yes, Lady. I can summon it," Ranma replied.   
  
"Good. Fey was well-known for Dragon Fang and the Dragon Armon. It will  
be a token of truth, to those who do not let their prejudices blind  
them, that you bear them."  
  
The Lady did not speak of her private concerns. She could not question  
the word of Masaki. If he said that Ranma had mastered the Dragon Fang,  
then that was true. But how? How could he possibly have mastered the  
weapon in three months? It seemed impossible. The Dragon Fang was  
capable of becoming almost any martial weapon. She had not expected  
Masaki to train Ranma in every weapon... but the most common ones. She  
had read the report Masaki sent back with Ranma. Fifteen... he had  
mastered the use of the Dragon Fang as fifteen different weapons, in  
only three months.  
  
She had heard pretty much the whole story of Ranma's early training, and  
knew well the rate at which he seemed to learn. While she felt certain  
that Masaki could not help but be a better teacher than Genma, he too  
had written that he had never had a student as quick to learn as Ranma.  
To satisfy his own curiosity, he had researched the boy's lineage, and  
sent the results to her as well. Ranma was a perfectly normal human.  
There was no question about it. He was descended from a long line of  
martial artists, on both sides of his family, and was in fact the heir  
to a katana fighting style, on his mother's side, though he did was not  
aware of it. But there was nothing in his heritage to explain his  
unbelievable capacity to learn.   
  
Further, Masaki was quite skilled at observing and judging the skill  
level of martial artists. He had watched Ranma perform his katas, and  
assured her that Ranma was not yet used to performing them at the speed  
he now could, nor was his skill in them in inhuman excess of what might  
be expected after two years of hard training. The katas he knew, he  
could perform nearly flawlessly, until he began moving at full speed.  
But he did not seem to know many of the advanced katas of his school. He  
had been a prodigy, there was no question, yet not to this degree. Had  
he been learning at this rate while with Genma, he would be far more  
skilled.  
  
Masaki also mentioned that by the time Ranma had returned, he seemed  
perfectly comfortable in his katas at full speed, and had incorporated  
what he learned from his sword forms into his unarmed katas. However,  
these changes did not disturb Masaki, as they fit the level of his  
natural ability as Masaki had judged it. Without whatever had happened  
to him in the other world, he would still, Masaki judged, have been  
steadily incorporating whatever he had been trained into his fighting  
style, and into his katas.  
  
The Lady did not speak of these concerns to Ranma, but while the  
preparations for the imminent confrontations proceeded, and Ranma  
practiced his katas, with and without weapons, she sought out a seeress  
in one of the nearby villages.   
  
When she returned, she was only slightly less disturbed. A divine gift  
for the martial arts? It seemed clear that whatever change had occurred,  
had happened the night he had defeated Fey. She could not imagine why it  
would result in his receiving a divine gift. What god or goddess would  
be so pleased with Fey's demise as to give the mortal who defeated him  
such a gift?   
  
She sighed, and put it from her mind, deciding to concentrate and focus  
on the approaching difficulties with the Court of Farallon. She hoped  
that they would be able to achieve their goal without Ranma being forced  
to kill again. She dreaded what it might do to him.  
  
---  
  
Krall lounged on the heavy stone seat at the rear of the cavern,  
watching the two new recruits facing off against older blood. This was  
just too rich. The new Lord of Fey seemed to be purging his army, and  
Krall had been steadily picking up new recruits. His group of bandits  
was growing by leaps and bounds, and nearly every member had military  
training and combat experience.  
  
While he focused his activities on the two kingdoms opposite Farallon,  
which were the only two not to have suffered an attack from the Lord Fey  
in the last thirty years, he had steadily worked his spies into the  
other nations as well, and soon he would have spies within Farallon  
itself.   
  
He wasn't avoiding it because it had been the last to be attacked, but  
because Farallon was the site of the accursed Mage Tower, the  
independent group of powerful mages that had plagued his earlier  
campaigns. No, he was content, for now, to build his connections,  
steadily grow his political power, while living high on the hog as the  
leader of this surprisingly competent bandit army.   
  
It was delightful, he thought, comparing this band to the one he had  
lead nearly seventy years before, just prior to entering Fey's service.  
That band had been rag-tag, rough men to be sure, but brawlers, not  
fighters, and dense. He had been forced to be present on nearly every  
foray, to prevent them from walking into enemy hands with their  
stupidity and drunken insubordination.  
  
Now, with Fey's rejects, he had built himself a banditry that actually  
contained enough skill that he was able to form multiple tight groups,  
give them difficult missions, and listen to reports of success, without  
involving himself! Of course, that's not to say he didn't get involved.  
The tightest band of rogues in the joint was his group of Howling  
Wolves. Yes, life was good... and it would be better still when he had  
exterminated that runt of a Lordling.  
  
  
  
  



	5. Trials of Diplomacy

Trials of Diplomacy  
  
  
A little more than a week after Ranma's return, a large company of armed  
horseman, bearing the flag of a parley, and escorting a large carriage  
and a train of wagons, drew up to the border of Farallon. The two border  
guards whose duty it was to accost them and learn their business were  
faint with relief that the company halted when ordered to do so, and  
drew straws to see who would have to remain behind while the other ran  
to fetch the border regiment.  
  
The guard who remained behind struggled hard to control his fear. The  
stories he had heard of the Lord Fey were evil and dark, and he was one  
man alone. The Lord's flag rose high on a standard beside the flag of  
parley, stating for all to see that the Dark Lord rode with them.   
  
It had been only about ten years since the last skirmishes with the  
troops of Fey, and the memories were dark ones. He himself had lost  
an uncle in those conflicts... now he feared that his brother would  
soon be mourning him as they had mourned their uncle.   
  
The flag of parley meant that the Lord Fey wished to discuss something  
under a temporary truce. Given Lord Fey's history, the guard feared  
that a discussion of the surrender of the Court of Farallon was  
imminent, and guessed that it was but a polite gesture preceding the  
renewed invasion of Farallon.  
  
Finally, the border regiment came, and their captain rode forth,  
followed by two stout men, bearing each a standard; on his right, the  
standard of Farallon, and on his left, a standard of parley.   
  
Then from the other side, a stir moved through the company, and the  
two standard bearers flanked a pair of horses as they rode forward. On  
one, a half step behind the first, rode the Lady Alana, and all knew of  
her, and the captain recognized her. But in the lead, on a large black  
charger, rode a young boy, who couldn't have been more than about six or  
seven years.  
  
Not knowing what manner of subterfuge this might be, not one of  
the men of Farallon dared laugh at the sight. They had heard stories  
of the Lord Fey's ability to disguise himself, and walk in the  
appearance of others. They could not help but wonder why he would choose  
the guise of a young boy. Hushed whispers ran through the ranks, of  
soul-stealers that stretched the span of their lives, by stealing the  
bodies of the young when their own grew old and withered. Was the Lord  
Fey one such? Others thought it was a deliberate and calculated insult,  
as if to say even a child could defeat the men of Farallon.  
  
The young boy was dressed all in black, a tight shirt and loose pants,  
and a short sword hung by his side. He stopped, about ten feet from the  
captain. But he did not speak... instead, the Lady Alana, sitting on a  
white mare behind him, spoke for him.   
  
"The Lord Fey wishes to discuss terms of peace with the King of  
Farallon. We ask safe passage to the capital." Her voice silenced the  
murmurs.  
  
The captain was hesitant to speak out, with one who might be the Lord  
Fey in guise before him, ready to strike him down, but he knew his duty.  
  
"I am sorry Lady. You know well that the King has sworn an everlasting  
war on the Lord Fey, until he be thrown down and killed. I cannot let  
you pass."   
  
He struggled not to choke on his words, his eyes on the young boy,  
watching for any sign of action, that he might flee before being struck  
down. Surely he would not act, not under a flag of parley. But this was  
the Lord Fey, and none knew to what depths he might go. He was shocked,  
therefore, when the only response was the laughter of the Lady Alana.  
  
"The King's wish is granted. The Lord Fey is thrown down, and lies dead  
and buried in the grounds of Fey Castle."   
  
Gasps of shock rippled through the ranks behind him. He could feel that  
they wanted to cheer, but he still feared a ruse. She had said the Lord  
Fey wished to pass through, and how could he do that if he were buried  
in the ground? He might have accepted her words, had she said she bore  
his body in one of the wagons... but as it was, her words did not add  
up.  
  
"Forgive me, Lady. I do not mean to question your word," and he paled as  
he saw the sudden anger on the boy's face. Please don't let him strike  
me down. His fingers flashed through a quick cycle of prayer. "But you  
said the Lord Fey wished to speak of peace with my King. How may I grant  
the Lord Fey passage, if he lies dead in the grounds of Fey Castle?"  
  
"The Lord Fey is dead. To the one who slew him all his power and lands  
have gone, and he is the new Lord Fey. The Lord Fey seeks safe passage  
to speak to your King of peace."  
  
Now it was clear. The Lady was claiming that this brat of a child had  
somehow defeated the Lord Fey, whom no man in the kingdom of Farallon  
could hope to best. This was all a cruel joke, and he was the butt of  
it. He laughed then, a hopeless sound filled with despair. He would not  
get out of this alive, he thought. "You mean to say that this stripling  
before me, is the new Lord Fey? That this mere whelp defeated the Lord  
whom no-one in the Five Kingdoms dares challenge? It is beyond belief  
that you, dear Lady, would treat me as such a fool."  
  
---  
  
Arkus smiled to himself in his scrying room, as he watched the  
scene unfold before him. The room was large, circular, formed of heavy  
stones set one upon the next. The stones were mostly unseen, though,  
covered as the walls were with heavy tapestries. Some depicted scenes of  
high honor, combat between knights for the honor of fair ladies, and  
such, but most depicted foulness. Several depicted demons engaged in  
vile excess, and one was of an army of half-men, despoiling a town,  
attacking women and children.   
  
A large, silvered glass mirror, bound in gold wrought in the shapes of  
demons, was reflecting light into the room, from the sunny scene of  
the challenge on Lord Fey's border. Arkus lay before the mirror, lying  
on a divan, indulging in fresh fruits and cream, waiting for an  
appropriate moment to... adjust the outcome.   
  
As Arkus felt the state of mind of the captain, he was delighted, and  
chortled to the raven on his shoulder. "Heh. This is perfect, I don't  
even have to nudge the guy. He can't even imagine the possibility of it  
being true. Its so completely preposterous, he's even willing to doubt  
the word of the Lady. This whole affair will ruin her reputation. I  
suspect once the Five Kingdoms come to the realization that the Lady can  
no longer be trusted, and is actively seeking to fulfill her Lord's  
will, there will soon be armies camped on his every border. Ahhh, this  
is too perfect. And I needn't do a thing!" He laughed again, with true  
pleasure. "I love it!"  
  
The raven cawed its agreement, then snatched a grape from him.   
  
---  
  
The Lady smiled at him. "Then the Lord Fey challenges you to defend your  
words. Choose a champion. If the Lord Fey bests him, then you will  
grant us safe passage. I give you my word of honor, we mean no harm to  
your King, and all I say is true. You have questioned my word, and my  
champion will defend it. Lord Fey, if you please." She gestured to  
Ranma, who hopped lightly from the back of his stead.   
  
The captain almost took up the challenge himself, to teach this  
stripling a lesson, but the look of complete confidence on the face of  
the Lady set him back. He turned, and called out, "Grael, step forth.  
Defend the honor of your country." A large man, carrying a six-foot  
longsword, stepped forth, and stood at the front of the regiment. When  
he saw the young man standing before the Lady, he laughed aloud.   
  
"Come Captain, just because I am the fighting champion of the regiment,  
does that mean I must face every popinjay that comes along?" He sneered  
at the young boy. He was tiny... he would be easy.  
  
"Speak no ill of the Lord Fey, Champion." The words of the Lady were  
soft, but carried a hint of steel, and struck him like a physical blow.  
The young boy pulled his short sword from his side, and suddenly, he was  
clothed in shining armor, the helm and long plume making it instantly  
recognizable. His sword shimmered, and became a four foot katana. Grael  
felt his heart shrink within him. The boy had the Dragon Armor, and that  
blade must be the Dragon Fang, and he held it like it was an extension  
of his arm. Grael felt a sudden touch of fear, but it was washed aside  
in a surge of confidence, as Arkus began manipulating him.   
  
Arkus, reclining in comfort, didn't want this damned fool flubbing the  
fight just because he felt nervous. He pushed at the man's stolid  
mind. Grael did not even realize the thoughts weren't his. He would beat  
this whelp. His sword had a two foot reach advantage over the boy's, and  
the length of his arms extended that even further. The boy would be  
slowed by the heavy armor, and the weight of his sword. It would be over  
quickly. He stepped forward, as the others shifted around to give them  
room. He grinned, the expression on his face one of utter confidence, of  
easy arrogance. This would be easy.  
  
The captain raised his hand. "Ready..." he called, and dropped it,  
"begin!"  
  
Grael held out his sword, grasping the hilt in both hands. One stroke,  
and the boy would be down. The boy stood utterly still, until Grael  
swung his sword back, to take his stroke.   
  
Ranma met Grael's stroke with the Dragon Fang, and paled beneath his  
helm, as his arms nearly gave under the strain. Damn! He's too strong,  
I can't block, I'll have to win on speed alone.  
  
Grael was annoyed that his first stroke had been met, and shocked that  
the boy had successfully parried it, but he had noticed the sudden  
pallor, and the sweat that now appeared on the whelp's brow. Too easy.  
Grael grinned and swung again. He had not put his full strength into the  
first blow, so he was confident that he would overpower the whelp with a  
heavier blow.  
  
Ranma's adaptability came to the fore, as he recognized even as the  
tension first gathered in Grael's massive muscles precisely what move  
the larger man was planning. He wants to overpower me, and he's  
expecting me to parry again. Does he really think I'm that stupid?  
Ranma sidestepped the move, judging that the big man had put more  
strength into that move than he should have. He would overbalance when  
he missed... and he did, grunting in surprise as his blow missed. Only  
luck saved him, for Ranma had no experience in fighting armed opponents,  
and was not prepared with knowledge of where the weak points were, and  
Ranma's blow glanced off of the hardened leather, scoring it, and  
just nicking the flesh beneath, but not doing significant damage.   
  
Grael was quick to recover from his overextension, and the minor but  
sharp pain of the scratch was barely noticed, as he tightened his form,  
releasing some of his arrogant confidence in favor of caution.   
  
A swifter, tighter thrust was turned aside by the boy's blade, the  
searching strike lacking the strength to overmatch the boy. Ranma was  
being more cautious as well, and did not seek to match the blow strength  
for strength, but merely to turn it aside. Ranma knew, inside, that he  
had the strength to match the larger man, if he could find it. Strength  
to leap fifteen feet ought to translate to a better showing here, and he  
wasn't sure why it was failing him. He also didn't have time to worry  
about it, as he turned aside more blows.  
  
Ranma might lack, at least at the moment, the strength to match fighter  
directly, but his skill was at least the equal of the larger man's, and  
he could see numerous openings being left by the swordsman.   
  
He ignored the openings, for the time being, as he concentrated on the  
armor, studying the protection it offered, looking for a way to subdue  
his opponent. One of the stronger reasons that Ranma disliked weapons  
was that so often they reduced one's options in terms of defeating an  
opponent. It was so much easier to seriously wound or kill an opponent  
with a sword than to subdue them.  
  
His mind split between defense, and studying his opponent's defenses,  
Ranma did not notice the slow chanting of Grael's name rising from the  
border guards. From their perspective, it looked like Grael was playing  
with the boy, and they were encouraging Grael to finish the game.  
  
Ranma was mildly irritated. He was running over the various standard  
disarms, and none of them seemed likely to succeed, and the few that  
stood a fair chance balanced that chance with an unpleasantly large  
opening for his opponent.   
  
He was being forced to come to terms with the differences between armed  
combat with naked blades, and the sparring with simulated blades in  
which he'd been instructed. Tenchi's grandfather had simply been  
unwilling to permit sparring with the potentially lethal live steel.  
  
Grael was becoming irritated as well. While he was still the one on the  
offensive, and was definitely preventing the boy from making any real  
progress... he hadn't been hit since the first time... neither was Grael  
getting any closer to winning. The infuriating boy wasn't even showing  
significant signs of exertion, while Grael could feel himself beginning  
to tire. Though a very strong man, he was wielding a blade matched to  
his size, and he normally felled his opponents in a much shorter time.  
  
Deciding to break the rythym, hoping that it would throw the  
inexperienced boy off-balance, Grael threw in another full-force swing,  
expecting a desperate parry.  
  
Ranma saw the shift in the man's motions, and guessed at his intent.  
Faced with only an instant to decide, Ranma recognized that he would be  
unable to defeat his opponent without killing him, as long as he relied  
solely on the blade... so even as the stroke came in, Ranma leapt, the  
sword passing harmlessly beneath him. Grael was overextended again, and  
Ranma, on reaching the ground, pushed off with his hands, driving his  
foot hard into the man's right hand, where he was just beginning to pull  
his arm back from his off-balance state.   
  
His ploy succeeded, the heavy blade was jarred in Grael's grip, and with  
his arm's extension, and the manner in which he was already drawing his  
arm in, he was unable to retain his hold on it. Even as the blade's tip  
dug into the ground below, Ranma leapt to stand on the man's arm,  
placing his own sword against Grael's unprotected neck.  
  
Recognizing his own vulnerability, should Grael simply drop his arm, he  
decided that that instant was enough to show he'd won, and he launched  
into a spin kick, bringing his right leg all the way around as he  
pivoted on his left foot, and planted his metal boot into the back of  
the unbalanced man's skull. He leapt off the falling man, as Grael  
fell heavily to the ground.  
  
Arkus, who had been in Grael's mind, bolstering his confidence, had not  
even had time to draw back before Grael was beaten, and collapsed  
unconscious on his divan. It would be some time before he awoke.  
  
"The Lord Fey claims the win," stated the Lady, "Are any here foolish  
enough to dispute him?" Ranma leapt from a standing start, twenty feet  
over the downed man, to land lightly on his horses back, dropping easily  
to sit again, taking up his reins.  
  
The captain stood gaping for a long moment, hardly able to credit what  
his eyes perceived. Then he moved quickly, detailing two of the guards  
to take care of Grael, and gather up his sword, and putting together a  
party of ten, with the standard of safe passage, to guide the Lord Fey  
to the capital. He felt sick to his heart as he did so.   
  
He could not, in honor, deny the Lady, nor her words, but he was  
privately convinced that the boy was the Lord Fey, the original Lord  
Fey. No mere seven-year old could possibly have the skill or strength  
the boy had shown. He wasn't human. It had to be the Lord Fey, in human  
guise, and yet honor prevented him from following his sworn duty. He was  
forced to act as if the boy was the new Lord Fey, and Lord Fey was dead.  
  
But why, why had the Lady treated him so? She, it was always said, was  
bound to the Lord by magic, but her heart was pure and true. Why had she  
deceived him so? He felt truly ill, as he watched ten of his men leading  
a company of Lord Fey's troops... probably monsters in human guise, like  
the boy, and the Lord himself, to go to the King. As soon as they  
passed, he detailed another party, four of his fastest riders.   
  
"You must reach the capital before them, and warn them. This boy is not  
what he appears, be he the new Lord or the old." They rode off,  
dwindling quickly into the distance. "And may the King forgive me, for I  
have failed him." If he dies, the captain thought, I will have to follow  
him in death. Be it upon my own blade, or the blade of one of Fey's  
warriors, I will follow my King.  
  
---  
  
For nearly a week, the party's travels were untroubled. They set up camp  
each night, and in the morning, they were careful to leave no trace of  
their passage.   
  
When they had first started out from the castle, the Lady had insisted  
that Ranma watch and learn from the cooks as they prepared the evening  
meal, and he found to his dismay, when they insisted, that he was quite  
successful at preparing food.   
  
The mind that was so quick to understand new martial arts moves, to  
dissect and understand them, proved equally adept at picking up the  
techniques the cooks used to prepare the food, even the ones they  
weren't really aware of using themselves. The first dish he prepared was  
given high praise by those who tried it, including the Lady. It  
embarrassed him.   
  
He was not really aware of the fact that he had an eidetic memory.  
Indeed, had you asked him, he would not have known what it meant. Yet he  
had had it as a child, training under Genma, and it was a good part of  
what had made him a prodigy even before he had unknowingly and  
unwittingly received a divine gift. This served him in good stead, as he  
had only to watch the preparation once, to know how it was done. It took  
but little time before the necessary skills were ingrained in his  
muscles as well, and cleaning and preparing the ingredients became as  
natural to his hands as his Art.  
  
While it was nice to think that when traveling alone, he would be able  
to eat well, he kept picturing himself behind a stove, cooking for a  
large party, and it worried him. He didn't want to be a good cook. He  
wanted to be a great martial artist.   
  
He was perturbed as well, on the third night, when several of the  
soldiers pulled out single and multiple pipes made from reeds, and the  
Lady teased him into taking one, and letting them teach him how to play  
it. His ready and quick mind took easily to this, and soon he was  
learning songs by ear, and playing along with them.   
  
Again, it disturbed him. He could not see how this would help his Art...  
but he could not refuse the Lady. Not when it was his fault that she was  
here, camped out with common soldiers, eating camp food, without the  
amenities he felt she deserved. If it was his fault she was here, then  
the least he could do was to prepare for her the most delicious food he  
could, and play for her the best music he could.   
  
Each night, as the soldiers sat around the fires and talked, Ranma would  
walk off by himself, and practice his katas. A few soldiers followed  
him, at the Lady's behest, he suspected, but the second night, he was  
followed by nearly twice as many, and he realized that they were coming  
now to watch him, not watch over him. He felt nervous beginning, knowing  
that so many were watching him, but as soon as he began, the world  
around fell away, and he was alone, alone with his Art.  
  
These practices continued as they entered the Land of Farallon. By the  
fourth night, the ten men who were guiding them had finally lost a  
little of their tension. Seeing the young boy learning to play the  
flute, and cook food, and taking good-natured ribbing from his own  
soldiers, they finally accepted the Lady's story. For all his unnatural  
speed and strength, he was clearly what he seemed to be, a seven-year  
old boy, nervous and unsure of himself when it came to anything other  
than his Art.  
  
Arkus had returned to his regular observations after finally recovering  
from that terrible headache... which was even worse than that hangover  
he got from trying to go drink for drink with that dwarf. He was annoyed  
at the men's response to the boy, but they were just border guards, not  
worth the effort of reaching out to. Besides, the more often he   
manipulated someone near the boy and the Lady, the more likely it was  
that one or the other would come to detect him. He would await a more  
opportune moment.  
  
Midday on the eighth day from the border, they came out of the woods, in  
sight of the high white stone walls of the capital city, with the small  
buildings huddled close to the walls all around, pennants fluttering in  
the breeze atop the battlements. The city was beautiful, and serene...  
but the view was marred by a large force encamped on the field between  
them and the city.   
  
Ranma was prepared for the sight. He had been warned by the Lady that  
the captain of the border guards had been convinced by his demonstration  
that he was the original Lord Fey, and would have sent warnings ahead.  
  
After watching to be certain that no immediate reaction was forthcoming  
from the encampment, his troops swiftly set up their own camp. Their ten  
guides were given leave to go and report to their superiors. Ranma stood  
in silence, watching as they rode down towards their army, and the  
soldiers behind him set up their own encampment. The Lady walked over to  
stand behind him, her hands on his shoulders.   
  
"I am worried, Lady. I have never seen so many warriors in one place  
before. How can we convince them that we want peace, if we sit here like  
this, two forces of war facing one another? I saw that captain's face. I  
think I know what he felt. He couldn't accept that I killed Lord Fey...  
because it would mean that I, a child in his eyes, defeated one that all  
his people could not. Won't the men down there feel the same? Their  
pride will not allow them to accept me." He sounded defeated, even to  
himself.  
  
"You see well, Ranma. That truly is what the captain felt. And when he  
saw you defeat his champion so easily, he could only believe that you  
were indeed the Lord Fey, laughing at him for falling for such an  
obvious ploy. And no," she said, her voice growing sad, "I do not expect  
more wisdom from the ones we face now. They will feel as you have said.  
We cannot convince them so easily, Ranma. But we can use their honor to  
force them to agree to peace with us. They will fear a trap, and strive  
to escape it. But perhaps in time, as the jaws of the trap continually  
fail to close on them, and they see the change in your lands, they may  
finally come to accept the truth."   
  
She ruffled his hair lightly. "At the least, as they see you continue to  
grow and learn, and see Masters passing through their lands to teach  
you, they will have to concede to themselves, that you are not the old  
Lord, with long years of experience. Indeed, I think in the short time  
they were with us, you won over our guides. Last night, did they not  
join in your music, with their own flutes?"  
  
"Yes, Lady, they did. You are right... but it pains me still, to see  
such fear in the eyes of a man, and know that I am the thing feared, as  
if I were a wild beast."  
  
"And I, Ranma, I am glad that you are not pleased to cause fear in  
others. I am glad that you do not seek power for its own sake. I am  
proud of you."  
  
"Thank you, Lady. You are kind."  
  
As they stood together and watched, they saw a party form up at the edge  
of the encampment, and the two banners rise on standards, for Farallon  
and a parley. They turned, and got their horses, and their own standard  
bearers, and matched the strength of the coming party man for man, and  
rode down to meet them. They came together across a flat grassy field.  
At the head of the Farallon contingent rode a tall man armed in field  
plate, heavy plates of steel set on a base of studded leather, with  
chain guarding the joints. All came to a halt as Ranma and the tall  
knight stopped, facing each other across a distance of ten feet.   
  
"Greetings, Lord Roga," said Lady Alana, her voice imperious and strong,  
"The Lord Fey wishes an audience with King Dei to discuss terms of  
peace."  
  
Lord Roga uttered a sharp bark of laughter. "You may have fooled the  
border guards, Lady of Fey Castle, but I am not so easily taken in.  
Think you that I cannot see through the guise your Lord has placed on  
himself? Lord Fey was never defeated by a mere whelp. No, Lord Fey is  
alive still, and sits before me, laughing at heart, as he makes fools of  
men. Not until Lord Fey is thrown down and dead will we have peace  
with the Land of Fey, Lady, and well you know it. Cease this falsehood.  
It ill becomes one so fair as yourself. Return to your home, Lord Fey.  
The King will not see you."   
  
He sat impassive on his stead as he spoke, looking now at the Lady, now  
at the young boy whose form hid the power of the Lord Fey. At any  
moment, he expected the Lord to erupt in fury, and that would signal  
Lord Roga's hosts to attack. The Lord Fey would not reach his King this  
day. But to his surprise, though he could see the flush of anger on the  
boy's cheeks, the stripling yet sat still, and said nothing. Instead,  
the Lady spoke again.  
  
"Your words are harshness disguised in courtesy, Lord Roga, as the venom  
of the serpent is hidden by its beauty. You mock my honor, and that no  
man may do. I challenge you, Lord. You will fight my champion, and he  
will prove my honor. And with my honor proven, we _will_ see your King."  
Her words were lightly spoken, but the hint of steel was clear in them,  
and the last phrase was as the closing of a steel trap.   
  
Lord Roga saw he had been lead astray, fooled by his expectation of the  
Lord Fey's fury. It defied his every understanding, that the Lord Fey  
could hold in his rage when so denounced. Yet the Lord had held in  
his fury, visible though it was on his countenance, and now he, the Lord  
Roga, was bound by his own honor, to answer the Lady's challenge.   
  
"As you say, Lady, so it shall be," he ground out through clenched  
teeth. Damn her for manipulating him so. The Lord should not have been  
able to sit for that. Had he no honor? "As your's was the challenge,  
mine is the response. The fight shall be here, and now, and it shall be  
decided by the sword, by death or surrender."   
  
He dropped from his horse's back, and his personal guard stepped forward  
to form a wide half-circle. They were quickly matched by the men of Fey,  
and a twenty foot circle was thus formed. The young boy leapt from his  
horse, and handed his reins to the Lady, and she led both horses from  
the impromptu ring.   
  
The boy pulled his sword from his scabbard, and it shimmered, and grew  
from a two foot blade, to a four foot katana, and suddenly, he was  
clothed again in the Dragon Armor. Roga unlimbered his own sword,  
drawing it forth, five feet of shining steel. "So it is you, Lord Fey.  
Even in disguise, you could not leave the Dragon Armor and Dragon Fang  
behind? It will not avail you."  
  
This was a quite unusual situation, Lord Roga knew. Never before had Fey  
been the challenger. Always before, he had responded to a challenge, and  
so named his terms, and brought his mighty sorcery to bear, and   
prevailed. His sword was well-known for its might in battle, but Lord  
Roga's sword was ensorcelled as well, and Lord Fey would not find it so  
easily broken. Facing a strong man with longer reach, Lord Fey's lack of  
skill with the sword would bring a quick end.   
  
Arkus smiled to himself. Once again, he had needed to do nothing. Lord  
Roga's suspicion was too strong, and in the boy's actions, it found only  
confirmation. This time, though, Arkus would not make the same mistake.  
He looked, and confirmed for himself that Roga's suspicions were too  
great for even his defeat at Fey's hand to change his opinion, much less  
Fey's defeat. He made a single tweak, to ensure that Roga would not hold  
back the final killing blow, then removed himself quickly from Roga's  
mind. He had no intention of being given a second headache. He sat back  
to watch.  
  
Lord Roga lunged forward, stabbed, parried, trying to force aside Lord  
Fey's defenses, and find an opening. There was none. Lord Fey's  
responses were perfectly timed, and his lack of reach seemed no  
disability at all. Lord Roga was perplexed. This was obviously what the  
Lady had sought, to take advantage of Lord Roga's lack of information.  
No-one knew that Lord Fey had been learning the true art of the sword.  
He had never before shown much interest. In the midst of battle, his  
sword would cleave his foes, and smite them down, and his skill mattered  
little. He had obviously been training for just this purpose.   
  
Ranma, in his fight with Grael, had perfected his technique for turning  
aside sword blows from a stronger opponent, and though he could tell  
that Lord Roga was significantly stronger than himself, he was able to  
avoid pitting his strength against Roga's in any direct fashion. As he  
fought, his ability to turn aside the strong blows steadily improved,  
and he was able to focus on the man he was fighting. Once again, he  
fought defensively, studying his opponent's armor, which was much more  
complete than Grael's had been.  
  
Lord Roga was utterly convinced now that this was the real Lord Fey. No  
such boy could possibly have gained such superlative skill with the  
sword, nor have the strength to turn aside Lord Roga's powerful blows  
again and again, with no sign of strain. Roga's sense of despair was  
growing. He had overplayed his hand. Lord Roga, in desperation,  
shifted fighting styles. Holding the blade one-handed now, he  
pulled out a parrying dagger.   
  
It worked, for a time. Every now and then, he would use a technique that  
Lord Fey seemed unfamiliar with. Apparently he was not really used to  
facing two blades, and he had not pulled out a second blade of his own,  
though he wielded his blade one-handed now. But each time that Fey  
seemed unsure, and Roga found an opening, and struck for it, Fey seemed  
to avoid it with ease, moving in that instant several times faster than  
he had been, before returning to his smooth rhythm.   
  
Roga found that each time this happened, that move became immediately  
useless... He only opened a hole in Fey's defenses with a given  
technique once. The second time, each time, Fey used the perfect defense  
against it. It was as if Roga was standing there, teaching Fey how to  
fight against two blades.   
  
Even worse was the boy's steady grin, which faded only slightly when he  
was forced to dodge, before returning full force. The boy seemed to be  
thoroughly enjoying himself, and showed no sign of tiring. He was not  
sweating, and seemed to be breathing easily.   
  
Ranma was surprised when Roga pulled out the second blade, and grinned,  
as his skill was finally tested. It was not sufficient... several times  
Roga managed a tricky manuever with the dual blades, getting Ranma's  
blade into a position from which he could not respond in time to a  
threat from Roga's second blade. Each time, Ranma was quick to react,  
pushing himself to move faster, and avoid the strike, shifting enough so  
that the blade would be able to reach only a well armored region,  
keeping the armor's weak points well out of harm's way.  
  
After half an hour, Roga was becoming seriously tired, and the little  
whelp was still unwinded. Roga's defenses were becoming weak, and he was  
infuriated that the boy failed to pierce them. Fey was toying with him,  
and Roga knew it, and he hated him for it. Finally, the boy dropped his  
grin, and reaching out, spun his sword in a twisting arc, and Roga's  
blade flew from his grasp, stabbing into the ground a short distance  
away. An angry rumble started, across the field.   
  
Ranma had finally figured out how to alter the techniques he had been  
taught to allow the disarm to work against a stronger foe, using the  
principles he had derived from using minimal strength to turn aside the  
stronger sword blows of his opponents. In doing so, Ranma displayed his  
true strength in the art, a strength that was his long before he came to  
this world, before the divine gift became his, the impressive   
adaptability that would eventually have made him the best master of the  
Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu, an art that made adaptability a prime tenet, had  
he remained untouched by Fey.   
  
Fey's sword snapped out, touching Roga's throat, and for the first time  
he spoke. Roga was almost startled at the soft, boyish voice. "Yield,  
Lord Roga."  
  
Lord Roga's face hardened. He had been beaten. There was nothing he  
could do. He could not save his king. But at least, he could die  
honorably. "No. If you wish to defeat me, you must kill me." He awaited  
the death blow, staring at the eyes of his tormenter, and was shocked to  
see them cloud with pain. The boy spat a word, in a language Roga had  
never heard, and turned away, sheathing his sword. As he walked to where  
the Lady stood, watching, Roga fell to his knees, still gasping for  
breath.  
  
He spoke to the Lady, and Roga heard him, his voice high and clear, the  
voice of a young boy, filled with sorrow. "I am sorry, Lady. But peace,  
and my training, are not worth his life. I cannot do it." She nodded to  
him, sorrow in her eyes as well, but tempered by a curious light. He  
turned to Roga, and walked back towards him, curving to the side, to  
lift Roga's sword easily in his hand, and then stood before him. He  
held out Roga's blade to him, and waited until it had been taken, then   
stated, "I yield. The victory is yours. We will leave you in peace." He  
sighed, and turned, and walked away, back to the Lady.  
  
Roga's thoughts were in a turmoil. All that he believed had been turned  
upside down in an instant. Fey had killed hundreds, thousands. His hands  
were stained with the blood spilled by his sword. All he needed to do  
was kill one more to have the King at his mercy, and he was walking  
away? It made no sense... none of it did... until Roga finally  
considered the terrible possibility that the Lady, whom he had so  
callously derided, might have been telling the truth.   
  
This boy, who had so easily defeated him... what if he wasn't the old  
Lord Fey. If he had taken Roga so easily, with so little strain, was it  
really unbelievable that he could have killed the Lord Fey? If that were  
so, then all the Lady's words would be true, and their mutual sorrow  
made sense. They had reached out in peace, and been rebuffed.  
Sudden horror overtook him. If Farallon had rejected peace...  
would the new Lord choose war? "Wait," he gasped, leaning heavily on his  
sword, struggling back to his feet. "Wait, Lord Fey." The boy turned  
back to look at him, sorrow still etched in his face. He had to know  
why. "Why, why did you not kill me? One stroke, and you would have had  
what you wanted. Why?"   
  
The boy turned completely, facing him, eyes filled with pain. His voice,  
when he spoke, was choked with emotion. "I killed once, and that was  
once too often. I would have spared him, if I had had any choice, evil  
though he may have been." Looking into the boy's eyes, Roga was shocked  
by the pain he saw there. "How, then, could I take the life of one who  
fought so hard for his King? The price for peace is too high. Just leave  
me be, and we will go."   
  
He turned back to the Lady. "If we take no troops with us, Lady, and go,  
just you and I, surely they would let us pass? We can go, and seek out  
the Masters, and I will keep you safe. I cannot do this." Roga had  
gotten his second wind now, and stood straight, marveling at the boy's  
words.   
  
"Wait," he said again. They both turned to look at him. "If you will  
come, just the two of you, I will take you to see the King. My life is  
forfeit to yours now, Lord Fey. I will stake the Lady's honor with my  
life, and take you to the King. If you prove false, my life is  
justly forfeit, but it will be little different than had you taken it  
here and now." He turned, and walked to his horse. "Follow me."  
  
The Lady looked at the sorrowful boy, his eyes filled with confusion.  
All this talk of lives owed and forfeit, was as so much mud to him. He  
could not understand why the man had so suddenly changed his mind. The  
Lady urged him to his horse, and he leapt upon it. Then she turned and  
dismissed her troops, sending them back to the encampment, and mounted  
her own mare. Together, they followed Lord Roga through a sea of hostile  
faces.  
  
Arkus stared in shock. No sound came through the mirror, so he had not  
heard their words. He had been so confident of the Lord Roga, right up  
to the end. When he saw the boy walk away in defeat, Arkus had leapt up,  
shouting out in victory, dancing about. When he again looked at the  
mirror, and saw the boy and the Lady following Lord Roga through the  
crowd, he slumped to the ground in shock. It was impossible!   
  
Lord Roga had been absolutely convinced the boy was Lord Fey, and the  
fight should have made him only more certain. What could possibly have  
happened in those few seconds as he danced, to change the Lord's mind?  
Arkus groaned in despair, then brightened.   
  
They might get to see the king, but he would be there watching ready to  
give a little nudge, and prevent the king from really considering their  
offer, whatever it might be.  
  
Finally, they were beyond the crowds of men, and passed through a  
meadow, and across a road, to stand before a drawbridge. It was slowly  
being lowered before them. They crossed it, hooves echoing on the wood,  
to enter a large courtyard, where their steeds were taken by young boys  
to be stabled.   
  
They followed Lord Roga on foot then, surrounded by castle guards,  
who watched them with suspicious eyes, down long halls filled with  
guttering torches, to stand finally before tall doors set in a stone  
wall. Guards in full plate, bearing halberds, and shields with the  
crest of the king, stood tall and strong to either side.   
  
A small window in one wall opened to a tiny room wherein sat another  
man, with a trailing beard, and a large book before him. Lord Roga spoke  
to him, and his eyes went wide as he looked at Ranma and the Lady, but  
he was silent, and dipped a quill in an ink bottle, and wrote their  
names in the book before him.   
  
The doors swung wide, and horns blew, and a voice announced, "The Lord  
Fey, and the Dragon-Lady Alana, to see the King, escorted by the Lord  
Roga." Ranma looked up in surprise when he heard the Lady hiss. He could  
feel her anger, but didn't know why. Her gaze was not directed at him,  
but at Lord Roga. Lady Alana was rightly annoyed.   
  
How dare Lord Roga use those terms of address for her! She had not yet  
told Ranma of her true background and heritage... she feared his  
reaction when he learned that it was not a woman he held captive, but a  
dragon. She hoped he would just assume it to be a courtly title. She  
dreaded the disappointment she felt certain would come when she saw his  
face change, when he stopped trying to free her, because he held not a  
woman, but a dragon in his power. She had felt such pride in him... she  
didn't want to lose that.  
  
Ranma, for his part, quickly forgot the matter, distracted by the sights  
in the room. It was very long, and full of people in garishly fancy  
clothes, and at the end of it, on a high dais, were two huge chairs,  
where sat a handsome young man of about twenty, and a beautiful young  
woman beside him, both wearing crowns of white gold, covered in gems.  
  
Waves of quiet titters and hushed whispers amongst the throngs of nobles  
kept pace with them as they followed Lord Roga up to stand before the  
dais. When they stopped, the hall fell silent. Lady Alana spoke, and  
each phrase fell like a single clear droplet into a pool of water,  
causing ripples of muted conversation to spread amongst the nearby nobles  
before silence fell again. "The Lord Fey seeks a private audience  
with King Dei to discuss terms for peace between the land of Farallon  
and the land of Fey."  
  
The king looked fearful for a moment, before a nudge from Arkus  
caused him to grow angry. "Lord Roga, what is the meaning of this? Why  
do you bring this woman before me? You know as well as she that the  
terms of peace between our kingdoms begin with Lord Fey dead and  
buried!"  
  
Lord Roga dropped to one knee, and bowed low before his king. "My King,  
Lord Fey is dead, and he is buried. Before you is the warrior who  
defeated him, who bested me before my men, then accepted defeat rather  
than take my head, the new Lord Fey."  
  
A shocked murmur spread through the crowd, and an older man with white  
hair and a long white beard stepped forth from behind the throne. "This  
is preposterous, my King. There is no way such a young man could have  
defeated Lord Fey. They lie. Send them away."  
  
The King held up his hand, and his counselor fell silent. "Explain, Lady  
Alana. How could such a youth defeat the Lord Fey? Were you there when  
he died? Did you see it?"  
  
"I did not. But I saw my Lord Fey, dead upon the floor of his summoning  
chamber. And I saw a hole, three feet wide, torn through the three inch  
thick steel door that is the only entrance or exit from that chamber...  
a door warded against all manner of demons, and graven with mighty  
spells. The Dragon Fang recognizes this boy as its master, and the  
Dragon Armor comes to his call."  
  
"So, boy. Tell us. How did you defeat the undefeatable Lord Fey?" the  
King asked, holding his disbelief in check. He had to give this  
stripling a chance to prove himself. If he dismissed him out of hand,  
Lord Roga, his champion, would be humiliated, so he resisted Arkus' plea  
for instant dismissal, never realizing that it was not his own thought.  
  
"I don't know. I don't remember what I do in the Neko-ken. But I  
recognize the effects of my claws. I killed him," replied Ranma,  
tonelessly, ruthlessly restraining his grief and anger.  
  
"What is this... Neko-ken?" queried the King.   
  
"Its a martial arts technique that my father taught me." Ranma's voice  
was still toneless. It sounded dead.  
  
The King frowned. This sounded preposterous. The boy killed Lord Fey,  
but didn't remember doing it? He recognized the marks of his claws...  
[but the boy has no claws], Arkus interjected. But Lord Roga said the  
boy defeated him... if he could defeat Lord Roga, then perhaps he could  
have defeated Lord Fey. "Very well. I will grant the audience." Arkus  
cursed fluently in several obscure tongues. The King stood, and the  
nearby guards snapped to attention, and hurried to his side, escorting  
the small group, including Lord Roga, into a private audience chamber,  
where they were all seated.   
  
Arkus pushed at the King again. [I had no choice but to grant the  
audience, but this is a farce. This is impossible. They are trying to  
trick us.] "Very well, Lady Alana," the King said, "I will play along  
with this farce, though I can't imagine what Lord Fey hopes to achieve  
from it. What are your Lord's terms?"   
  
The Lady smiled at him. "Our terms are simple, King Dei. We offer peace  
between us. All that we ask is free passage through your lands for the  
outsiders who will shortly be needing to travel to and from our land."  
  
Arkus was quick to jump on this, and find the one angle that would  
appeal to the King. [Outsiders... she means mercenaries. Peace until  
their army is swollen with new men.] "Ah, I see," the King said, "So  
simple. Let us have peace, and let the mercenaries walk freely to you,  
until you have enough of an army to crush us without risking your own.  
How clever. I don't think so."  
  
"We do not ask this to allow mercenaries through, King Dei. I ask this,  
so that the Masters I have invited to come and train the Lord Fey will  
be able to do so."  
  
Again, Arkus was quick to prevent the King from taking the words  
at face value. [The Lord needs training? He just beat Lord Roga. Who is   
he preparing to fight that he needs more training? Such a transparent  
lie, its insulting.] "Train? Since when does your Lord need training? Do  
you think me blind, that you place so transparent a plot before me, and  
then ask why I see through it? Why do you seek to insult me so?"  
  
"Very well then. Bring your spymaster in, and scry the grounds of Fey  
castle. I will direct him to the appropriate places, so that you may see  
both the grave of the deceased Lord Fey, which Lord Fey dug, and the  
hole in the door of the summoning room, which Lord Fey tore."   
  
As he felt the King's response to this, Arkus was forced to flee,  
to shut down his scrying, and pull back from the King's mind. The  
King's spymaster was hardly senile enough to fail to notice that  
they were being scryed upon. Arkus cursed again. Damn her. Had she   
detected his interference? "Fine. Guard, go, bring the spymaster to me,  
and tell him to bring all his implements of scrying. We will soon learn  
the truth."  
  
Shortly thereafter, the spymaster entered. On the small table that stood  
between them, he placed a large basin. He filled it from a pitcher of  
water, and proceeded to cast his spell. Under the Lady's verbal  
guidance, he showed the King the gravesite, and the door, the shards of  
iron still visible on the floor beneath the gaping tear in the door.  
When he finally left, the King was shaking in fear, though he did his  
best to hide it.   
  
This boy, who had so much power, had just sat in silence as the King had  
impugned his honor, and the honor of his Lady. What had come over him,  
that he had reacted so harshly? The King felt he would be lucky to leave  
with his life. He agreed to their terms, thankful they were not harsher,  
and did not relax until they had left. Then he had Lord Roga relate to  
him all that he had seen and heard.   
  
"Well, then, Lord Roga," he said, wiping his forehead with a   
handkerchief, "It seems we indeed have a new Lord Fey. But what a  
strange boy. How is it possible that he have such skill and power so  
young? Can you imagine what he will be like when he comes of age? When I  
think of how hard we were pushing him... can you imagine, if he had  
decided it was worth war to clear a path for his trainers to reach him?  
We would have been destroyed!"  
  
"Yes, I expect we would. I fought with him, and I was fighting a life  
and death duel. He toyed with me, using but a portion of his skill and  
speed, so that he could learn what I knew, that he did not. Life and  
death, and to him it was an opportunity to train. I think the reason he  
was willing to back down was because he felt that he and the Lady would  
be allowed to leave, if they went alone, to seek training. I think if we  
had denied him that, he would have come through anyway."  
  
  
  
  



	6. Lessons Learned

Lessons Learned  
  
  
When they returned to Fey Castle, the Lady Alana took Ranma into a large  
study, and pointed him to a seat on a couch. She sat beside him. "We  
need to talk about this now, Ranma. You went through something very  
difficult out there, and for just a moment, you went beyond your  
father's training, and we need to discuss it."  
  
"You don't mean the fighting," Ranma sighed. "You mean when I... when I  
gave up." He looked depressed, and he stared down at his hands, as if in  
them he could find the root of his failure.  
  
"Yes, Ranma, that's what I meant," then she reached out, and lifted his  
head with a finger beneath his chin, "Look at me, Ranma." She looked  
into his eyes, and smiled. "You won, Ranma. When you walked away, and  
didn't take the killing stroke, that's the moment that you won. Can't  
you see that?" She could see the confusion in his eyes. "Up to that  
moment, Lord Roga was convinced you were the Lord Fey. Just a moment  
later, and he bet his life that you weren't, and took us to the King.  
Why, Ranma? What changed his mind?"  
  
"Lord... Lord Fey would have killed him." Ranma replied, a bit sullenly.  
She was just trying to make him feel better about losing. It didn't  
matter. Roga had still beaten him.  
  
She could see the defeat still, burning in his eyes. "Let me try and  
explain it, Ranma. You fought several battles that day. You fought the  
border guard's champion, right?"   
  
"Yes," he replied shortly.  
  
"And you fought Lord Roga?"  
  
"Yeah," he sighed again, "and lost."  
  
She knew she couldn't be over-subtle here. He was smart, but he wasn't  
good at nuance. "And you fought King Dei, didn't you?"  
  
"What?" He looked up at her in confusion. "I didn't fight him."   
  
"Didn't you?," she asked softly. "He challenged you, told you he would  
never have peace with you... and together, we fought him, and we  
defeated him... didn't we?"  
  
"Uh... uhmm... yeah, I guess. Kinda." Confusion was still dominant in  
his eyes, but she saw a glimmer of comprehension.  
  
"And with Lord Roga... didn't you really fight two battles with him? You  
fought him in a physical battle, and you defeated him. Then he fought  
you in a battle of wills. He tried to force you to prove that he was  
right, by killing him. And don't you see, Ranma? When you admitted  
defeat, you actually beat him a second time. He was challenging you. If  
you had killed him, you would have proven him right. He would be dead,  
but he would have won, and his troops would have fought tooth and nail  
to keep us from the King. But you beat him, and proved him wrong. That's  
why he changed his mind."  
  
"Hey..." he replied, wonder growing in his voice, "you're right! Wow!  
You mean, even when I thought I lost, I really won?"  
  
"Yes, that's right. Now, think back. What other battles did we fight,  
that day?" She had accomplished what she knew she must, but perhaps she  
could build on this success, and bring out some of that bright  
intelligence that had been so blindly focused on the Art.  
  
He sighed, and put his head in his hands... then he jerked upright,  
grinning. "I know! And it wasn't me! You fought, and you won too. You  
fought that captain of the guards. He didn't want to let us in, and you  
beat him. You made him challenge you, so I could fight, and he would  
have no choice but to let us in. And then you fought Lord Roga the same  
way, and made him challenge me! Then you did it again, with King Dei,  
and forced him to bring in his summoner, and accept the truth." His grin  
had deepened into a real smile now, as he realized how much they had  
really accomplished. "And we both fought to get the peace deal, and  
we both won... Wow... you fought just as much as I did."   
  
"There was one more battle you fought, and won... can you think of what  
it was?" she asked, gently. She didn't bring up the fact that in the  
first two cases, she had actually been the one to issue the challenge.  
He was right, in the deepest sense. She had tricked them into impugning  
her honor, thus allowing her to issue a challenge they could not refuse.  
  
He sat and thought, rubbing the base of his pigtail. He rocked back and  
forth a bit, thinking over each bit of the journey, until finally his  
eyes lit up. He smiled at her again. "Those guards that came with us.  
They started out angry at us, and suspicious. When we got to the field,  
I think they were actually disappointed at having to leave. They didn't  
think I was Lord Fey anymore. They didn't want to believe us, and when  
they left, they did. That was the last battle, right?"  
  
"That's right." And she reached out and teased his hair a bit. "It has  
been said, Ranma, that it is as important to know when not to fight, as  
when to fight. But that's not really true. What do you think is really  
meant by that, Ranma?" She smiled gently at him. She didn't really  
expect him to get this one, but she wanted to give him the chance.   
  
He had surprised her before, with Lord Roga. His reaction had been   
unexpected, knowing what she did of the tenets of his school... Anything  
Goes meant exactly what it said. Anything was worth doing to win. At  
that moment, she had feared for him, feared what his father might have  
made of him, feared what he would become, if he followed his school's  
teaching, and killed Lord Roga... but she had expected nothing less. She  
had been surprised and pleased that he had proven stronger than his  
father's teachings. And he surprised her now.  
  
"Uhm... maybe, the important thing is to know which fight you're really  
fighting?" Ranma looked at her hopefully. Her beautiful smile told him  
he was right, and at that moment, Ranma felt like he had won a fight he  
hadn't even known he had been fighting.   
  
That night, in his rooms, Ranma pondered the trip, and the talk he had  
had with the Lady. He particularly remembered the pain in her eyes as he  
told her that he could not kill Lord Roga. It was not a pain for his  
failure. . . but a pain of sympathy. She had felt pain, because he had.  
He thought further back, to when she had held him, as he cried, after  
realizing that he must have killed the Lord Fey.   
  
He decided that it was clear, that she felt pain when she saw him in  
pain. He could not bear to see her hurt, and he felt sure that this was  
another aspect of the spell that bound her to love him. After all, what  
better way to prevent her from killing the Lord Fey, than to make her  
feel any pain she saw inflicted upon him? He wasn't sure of the details,  
but the results seemed clear.   
  
He made a decision that night, a momentous decision that would haunt him  
for years, and ultimately cause his first and greatest failure. He  
began a steady habit of using the Soul of Ice, and burying his emotions,  
his fear and pain, his confusion, even his waning affection for his  
father, behind a wall of ice in his mind. He made a silent vow that  
night, that never again would he hurt the Lady by allowing her to see  
his pain. He would protect her, even from himself.  
  
---  
  
Seated in his personal chambers in the house of Lord Marnolan, a minor  
Baron who's favor he had obtained, Krall read the latest missive from  
his first spy in Farallon, and snarled in anger. Preposterous. How could  
it be? "It is impossible," he growled, and stalked from the room.  
  
A scant hour later, he cautiously entered a tavern in the town where his  
spymaster stayed when not in the field. He peered about the darkened  
room, trying to see through the flickering shadows created by the  
guttering torches. He always felt nervous when speaking to his  
spymaster.  
  
Krall held few illusions about his own skill. He was a true fighter, an  
experienced warrior, and he knew exactly where his skills placed him  
relative to those around him. When he did not know, he would generally  
fade back, allowing others to fight, showing him where he stood. That is  
what he was doing with the new Lord Fey.  
  
At the same time, there were a few people whose skill he knew to be  
sufficient to kill him, in this particular case, it would be a painful  
death, but not one that his opponent would have to put a lot of effort  
into. He could certainly defeat the silent shadow walker in a straight  
up fight, but if it ever came to that, he would not be fighting him, but  
one of his poisons. Krall knew that his constitution was unusual... he  
could hold his ale as well as most dwarves, and that said a hell of a  
lot, but he knew enough about the poisons Friss would use to know that  
it would simply mean that he would have longer to spend in agony before  
finally dying.  
  
So Friss was one of the few of his colleagues whom he treated with a  
cautious respect quite unlike his typical arrogance.   
  
Finally he spied the thin man, seated in a dark corner, made darker by  
the absence of a torch in the nearest sconce, which didn't surprise  
Krall one bit. He moved quickly to stand by the table, then slipped in  
beside him. Without looking at Friss, he spoke under his breath, "Tell  
me, Friss, how comes this? How could King Dei make such an agreement?  
And if it be so, if the fool really agreed to allow these outsiders in,  
then why have nearly three months passed, and none come. Why would the  
new Lord take such a risk, to obtain so peculiar a peace, only to ignore  
it? I need more information than this to plan my actions. If he starts  
making peace with the other kingdoms, all our plans could be  
jeopardized."  
  
"It was the Lady, Lord Krall, her doing, by what I've learned. She  
played their honor and tricked them into dueling the boy. He defeated a  
minor company champion easily enough. Then, before the capital, before  
Lord Roga's personal guard, he toyed with Lord Roga, fought him to a  
standstill until Roga fell from exhaustion, then Lord Fey yielded."  
  
"What?! But you said Roga fell!" Friss leveled a sharp gaze at Krall,  
dark eyes burning with anger, and Krall lowered his voice, "You have an  
explanation?"  
  
"Quite. Lord Roga did indeed fall. That is one reason I am sure the Lady  
was behind it. Somehow she must have learned that Roga's orders were  
that if he fell, his troops would fight to the last man to prevent Fey's  
advance on the palace. Lord Roga was so shocked that Lord Fey didn't  
kill him, that he accepted their story."  
  
"That explains the audience, but why did the King agree?"  
  
"It occurred in a private audience. Only the King, his wife, the Lord  
Roga, Fey, and the Lady have any idea why the agreement was signed."  
  
"Can we use Lord Roga? How badly does he desire revenge?"  
  
"On the contrary, Milord, indications are that Roga is now Fey's  
staunchest supporter in Farallon."  
  
"What?! That's absurd!" hissed Krall, shocked to the core. This was not  
the way things worked in his world.   
  
"So it is, so it is. Nonetheless, its true. Think you the Lady might  
have some power after all? Perhaps she overcame their minds, or cast a  
spell upon them. I know not." Friss waved dismissively, and sat back.  
Krall stood, and walked away, knowing that his time with Friss was   
ended, and staying would not be healthy. He had much to think on, in  
any case.  
  
  
  
  



	7. Achievement

Achievement  
  
  
Ranma sat in silence as four old men discussed him just inside the  
building. He was sitting in lotus position, waiting for them to return.  
After they had come back from the kingdom of Farallon, the Lady had  
insisted that he needed to gain complete control of his ki, and  
brought a Tai Chi Chuan master from his own world.   
  
All that effort to let Masters reach him, and she had brought one from  
his home, who didn't care about the Five Kingdoms, or all the effort he  
had just been to. He was only now, three months later, admitting to  
himself that she was right. Just having the peace agreement wasn't  
enough. They needed to see that it would be kept, to get used to the  
idea, before the masters would allow themselves to be drawn out of their  
temples and dojos, and make the long journey to train the new Lord Fey.  
  
She was right about controlling his ki, as well. Because of the work  
the Tai Chi Chuan master had done with him, he could now summon the  
power of the Neko-ken at will, and do many other interesting things with  
his ki. He was still afraid of cats, but he suspected that the Lady had  
a plan for that as well.   
  
Now the master had gone, and returned with three others. For nearly ten  
hours, Ranma had undergone test after test. He had pushed hands with   
each of the masters, a taxing exercise that literally involved pushing  
hands, but was really focused on the passing back and forth of ki. He  
had been attacked by each master in turn, each using a different art  
against him, and been required to demonstrate how he could turn each  
style of attacks against the attacker with minimal movement, then been  
attacked by all four at once.   
  
They had made him attack them with the Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu,   
demonstrating how he had integrated the Tai Chi Chuan into his personal  
style.   
  
The final tests had involved him centering himself in different places  
and different positions, while the masters tried everything from all out  
attacks, to levers, to throwing stones, to breaking boards against him,  
to force him to move. This unusual centering, the ability to almost  
literally become one with the immediate environment, was one of the most  
powerful abilities in Tai Chi, and could literally make a master of it  
into the proverbial immovable object. Indeed, despite everything they  
had tried, he had remained where he placed himself. No the masters were  
closeted, discussing him.  
  
As the door closed behind the last master, he looked to Wan Go, the  
master who had trained the boy. "Surely you do not still expect us to  
believe that the boy has studied the Tai Chi Chuan for a mere three  
months, Wan Go? You have had your fun, now tell us the truth. How long  
have you been training the boy?" He grinned at Wan Go. It had been a  
good joke, after all.  
  
"Three months." Wan Go replied. The other three masters turned slowly  
and looked at him.   
  
"You are serious," Jan Fen said, shock evident in his eyes. "You are  
actually serious, aren't you." Wan Go didn't even have to reply. "Is he  
really human? That woman, who acts so much like his mother, though she  
does not call him son, she has the blood of a dragon, I think."  
  
"He is as human as I am," Wan Go replied.   
  
Lo Phun sighed. "It figures that the youngest Master ever to reach this  
level would be from another world, raised by a Dragon. Why do my  
students never reach this high?"  
  
"You assume too much, Lo Phun," Wan Go replied. "The Lady Alana has  
informed me that my student is from our world. That is why I was brought  
to teach him. He is the heir to the Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu."  
  
"You mean that school founded by that infidel, Happosai? How   
unfortunate," moaned Ko Lin. "But he has passed the tests. He is a tenth  
dan Tai Chi Chuan master, and it isn't even his chosen art! I hope that  
stupid infidel appreciates what he has in this boy."  
  
"I want to add one more test," Wan Go interjected. "I don't think I've  
reached his limits yet."  
  
"You want to go further?" Jan Fen was shocked. "Tenth dan is not good  
enough for you?"  
  
"Come. You will see. I think he can achieve something remarkable. We  
will see." They followed him, curious to see what more he thought  
this young warrior could do.   
  
Wan Go had not told them that he had asked the Lady about Ranma's  
astonishing speed at learning the Tai Chi. She had simply told him that  
Ranma's ability was a gift from the gods. Technically true, perhaps,  
after all, everything one was was really a gift from the gods, but  
useless as far as understanding the boy's amazing abilities. Wan Go had  
tested the boy when he first came, and found that though the boy had no  
conscious control of his ki, he was nonetheless using it to augment his  
speed, strength, and stamina in the sparring they did.   
  
Ranma stood and faced them as the four old men came out. He bowed  
deeply.   
  
"Student, I have one further test. Are you ready?" Wan Go challenged  
him.  
  
"Hai, sensei." Ranma replied.  
  
Wan Go led Ranma to a short stone column, about four and a half feet  
tall. "Sit upon this, and find your center. Center yourself very  
strongly, then I want you to meditate. I want you to hold onto your  
center, and meditate, and withdraw your awareness of the world. As you  
do this, you must not let your hold on your center falter. Do you  
understand?"  
  
"Hai, sensei," Ranma answered, and leapt lightly to the top of the post,  
settling in lotus position on it. He closed his eyes, and focused.   
  
"When you are centered, and your awareness is withdrawn, say 'Ready'.  
Then, wait five minutes, and return." Wan Go instructed. Ranma focused,  
and found his center, and firmed his center in relation to his  
surroundings. He steadily strengthened his center, until he was  
comfortable, then breathed out, and began to meditate. He held tightly  
to his center, until his awareness was withdrawn. He said, "Ready." but  
did not hear his own words.   
  
When Wan Go heard his student speak, he looked at the others, who were  
watching curiously, and at the Lady, who stood some distance away,  
watching them all, and rubbed his hands together gleefully. He had tried  
this many times, and failed, but he thought Ranma might finally succeed.  
He was so powerful in himself. Wan Go reached out with his ki, and felt  
the post, and located its weakness. His wrinkled hand lightly tapped a  
spot on it, and the post crumbled to dust.   
  
The gasps of his peers and the startled cry of the Lady were music to  
Wan Go's ears, as he stared bemused at the boy, still sitting four and a  
half feet from the ground, resting comfortably on nothing at all. He  
walked over, picked up a plank of wood, and placing it against Ranma's  
back, applied a considerable amount of force, visibly bending the plank.  
Ranma did not move. Wan Go dropped the board, and sat down on a bench,  
counting the time.   
  
At the appointed moment, Ranma's eyes opened, his senses stirred... and  
his mouth dropped. The old men watched, amused, as Ranma slowly... ever  
so slowly, reached beneath himself, staring straight ahead. They  
chuckled as his hand passed slowly beneath him, encountering nothing.   
  
"Uhm... Sensei... what am I sitting on?" Ranma asked.   
  
"Nothing at all, student. Nothing at all," was Wan Go's self satisfied  
response. Ranma stood up slowly, and the watching masters gasped again.  
Holding your center while moving was difficult enough... holding it  
while standing on nothing? As he stood, they noticed that his center  
wasn't really moving... His center of gravity stayed perfectly still, as  
his legs stretched down beneath him, but still failed to reach the  
ground.   
  
Now that his feet were only a foot and a half or so from the ground,  
Ranma felt safe enough to look slowly down. Even as he stared at the  
ground beneath him, he didn't fall. He looked at the grinning Wan Go,  
and smiled. Reaching out again, he felt the ground beneath him with his  
ki... and mentally gave it a gentle push. Gasps rose around as he wafted  
slowly upward, stopping when his feet were about three feet from the  
ground.   
  
He looked over at the stone wall, and mentally gave it a sharp shove.  
Though otherwise motionless, he still slid five feet through the air  
directly away from the wall. The masters were silent now, as they  
watched the boy creating a whole new art before their eyes. He reached  
out with his ki, and took both the ground and the wall, and gave an  
angled shove... and rotated in the air. He gulped, and pulled himself  
back upright.   
  
He looked at Wan Go, grinned an evil grin, and watched Wan Go gulp  
suddenly. Ranma reached out, held the ground very tightly, and lifted up  
on Wan Go. Wan Go rose smoothly five feet into the air. Ranma laughed  
delightedly, and released Wan Go, who promptly dropped back to the  
ground.  
  
Wan Go was irritated. "All right, student. Enough playing. Down. Now."  
Ranma dropped silently to the ground, and stood before his sensei. It  
didn't matter that Wan Go was irritated. Ranma was too thoroughly happy  
for that to bother him. He had just realized that a slight twist on this  
new technique would aid him in the Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu more than  
everything else he had learned in the Tai Chi Chuan... With this  
technique, there would literally be a surface to leap from or land on,  
wherever he needed one.   
  
They gave Ranma his dan belt, and a plaque... Eleventh Dan. Ranma was  
sure Master Wan Go had told him there were ten dans in Tai Chi Chuan...  
but who was he to argue? They were the masters.   
  
---   
  
The Lady informed him that she would permit him two weeks to integrate  
the Tai Chi firmly into his style, before beginning his training in  
magic.  
  
He found that he did not have to perform the centering exercises to  
merge this new ability, that he found himself thinking of as the  
'Juushin Jisei Ryuu,' or 'Controlling Center of Gravity Style,' with the  
Musabetso Kakuto. He did not need to be centered to mentally solidify  
the air just where his foot or hand would be in the next moment, and  
push off of it. With this addition to the Musabetso, he could remain  
airborne indefinitely. It was very close to flying, and he found it  
absolutely exhilarating.   
  
Of course, he could literally fly, as well, by finding his center and  
moving himself, and he trained in this as well, but it took time for it  
to become familiar. Rather than choosing to move in such and such a way,  
he had to figure out how to move in relation to some fixed object, so  
that his body would move as he wished it to. It was confusing, and he  
found it more comfortable to use leaps, with which he was quite  
familiar, and which he knew precisely how to control.  
  
He also developed an exercise that he would continue for the rest of his  
life. He worked out a means to use the Juushin Jisei Ryuu to effectively  
increase the weight of his body, without actually increasing his weight.  
It was the basic equivalent of being in a heavier gravity, but with the  
Juushin force being applied to whatever surface he came in contact with  
to prevent it from feeling the extra weight. He named it the Juuryoku,  
or Gravity, technique.  
  
As this developed, it had two basic effects. First, as he slowly  
increased the effective gravity, it forced him to become stronger to  
continue to be able to perform his leaping aerial katas. Second, it  
conditioned him to the constant use of his ki, which strengthened his  
body's ability to handle the flow of ki, and strengthened and deepened  
his ki reserves.  
  
---  
  
Two weeks later, as they waited for his new sensei to arrive from  
the northern mountains, Ranma began his training in magic. His first day  
of training made Ranma understand why the Lady had insisted that he  
begin with Tai Chi. She made him center himself, and reach out with his  
ki, then she fired magical attack after magical attack at him. He  
strained to hold his center, as he was pummeled, and he used new-found  
mastery of ki to bat the attacks away.   
  
Slowly, as he touched the attacks, he began to get a feel for them,  
until suddenly, as she fired yet another magical arrow at him, he felt  
its weak point. With a feeling akin to exaltation, he touched its weak  
point with a feather light brush of ki, and the attack simply melted  
away. Soon after, she began stepping up her attacks, hitting him with  
steadily more powerful effects. Even the immaterial ones that sought to  
affect him without passing the intervening space could be felt with his  
ki, and every one had its weak point, and every one fell before a minute  
application of ki. It was just like the way Wan Go had caused that  
column to fall into dust... a little touch at the right point, and it  
was done.  
  
After a while, he began to feel more points on them, more detail, and  
finally, he stopped her, and asked her to fire a single magic arrow at  
him. She returned to the small, simple attack, and he caught it with ki,  
and held it in the air. He closed his eyes, and felt deeper, and finally  
he could feel where the strands of magical energy were coming from...  
and gathering them up, somehow, he wasn't sure, he pulled them together,  
and tied them to each other in the same way, and released his  
creation... only to get hit in the chest by two arrows... the one he had  
created, and the one she had sent to him.   
  
They both laughed at his blunder, then she told him to get back up, and  
ready himself again. Now she sent a single slow missile towards him...  
and he reached out with his ki... and felt nothing, and it flew into his  
chest and knocked him off his chair.  
  
He was excited, and demanded to know how she had hid the magic, and  
wanted to try it again and again, but she just smiled sadly at him, and  
refused. She couldn't bear to tell him that he couldn't see it because  
it drew from a feminine source. He was totally blind to magic from the  
female principle, and she knew why, and she knew he would be hurt if she  
told him.   
  
She would wait, and when he was strong enough to know, she would tell  
him. She suspected she would lose him then, but she had little choice.  
He would never be able to free her until he mastered both feminine and  
masculine magic, but she doubted even he would be strong enough to face  
the pain he would have to face to become whole enough to master both.  
Not for the last time did she curse his worse than worthless father.  
  
  
  
  



	8. Darkening Revelations

Darkening Revelations  
  
  
The next master arrived, and Ranma went with the Lady to greet him. The  
new master was tall and lean, and stepped about with a jaunty air,  
walking easily amidst the gardens as they approached him. Just as they  
reached him, he finally turned to face them, and Ranma saw his eyes...  
shrunken skin covering empty sockets. The master had no eyes.  
  
"Greetings, Master Kagano. May I present your student? This is Ranma  
Fey." The Lady put her hands on his shoulders, and pushed him forwards.   
  
"You have a kind face, young man," the master said, then turned to the  
Lady, "and is it matched by a kind heart?"   
  
"It is," she smiled back proudly.  
  
"B-but, Sensei..." Ranma spluttered.  
  
The master put a finger to Ranma's lips, with not the slightest pause,  
or unease in his movements. His arm's motion was direct and simple,  
taking the shortest path. He clearly knew exactly where Ranma was in  
relation to himself.   
  
"You wonder how I can see you so clearly, without sight? Well, boy. You  
will learn. He tapped Ranma's shoulder lightly, but in a complex rhythm,  
and Ranma's world turned black. Ranma gasped. "Don't worry, child. Your  
eyes will take no permanent harm. But you will learn to do without them  
at need. For one with such strong ki as you, there is no need for sight  
for anything beyond color. All else will come in time."  
  
He led the boy into the garden. "Now, concentrate, and feel the ki  
around you. Don't reach out with your ki... Just let the ki around you,  
the ki of all that lives about you, wash over you. Feel it."  
  
As they walked from the garden, Arkus finally looked in on Ranma again.  
When the Tai Chi master had come, Arkus had discovered that the wrinkled  
old man could somehow tell that he was watching, and had done something  
with his ki, and broken Arkus' mirror. It had taken several months  
before Arkus could replace it, and then he had been loth to look again,  
and lose another mirror. It was only after he learned that another  
master had passed through Farallon on his way to Fey Castle that he  
decided to watch again.   
  
Arkus watched the master lead the boy towards the house, and wondered  
what he was doing. After watching the boy being led from place to place,  
Arkus finally realized that the boy was blind. Arkus dropped the scry,  
and raced from the room. This was a perfect opportunity. Within ten  
minutes, several pigeons had left the castle, bearing notes to the homes  
of several powerful individuals whom Arkus knew to covet the lands or  
Lady of Fey, informing them that the boy had been blinded. Within two  
weeks, at least one of them should show up at Fey Castle, issuing a  
challenge. Whatever had caused the boy to go blind, it would be his  
downfall.  
  
Two days later, Ranma and Master Kagano were in the garden, repeating a  
very similar exercise. The Master was talking softly. "Sensing auras is  
easy. You must move beyond this, and sense the tiny flows of ki that are  
being generated to form the aura. Concentrate on these tiny flows, and  
you can begin to see the surface of anything that is generating ki."  
  
Ranma sighed, then asked curiously, "Sensei... I think I see now... but  
why aren't you wearing any clothes?"  
  
The master fell from his stone, stunned. It had taken him five years to  
reach this stage, working alone, fighting his blindness. It had taken  
his first student two years, with a master guiding him every step of the  
way. It had taken this boy two days.  
  
"Sensei, why'd you fall over? And why do you have that funny look on  
your face?"  
  
The master pulled himself upright. "Just a bit surprised, Ranma. You are  
progressing faster than I expected. To answer your first question, I am  
wearing clothes. You simply cannot see them. What generates ki,  
student?"  
  
"Everything that lives, Sensei," Ranma was quick to reply. He knew his  
theory fairly well.  
  
"And are clothes alive, student?" Kagano asked with a sigh.  
  
"Aaahhh! No, Sensei, they aren't. I see." Ranma answered. Ranma shivered  
with delight. Even though his eyes could not see, it was like he could  
see all about him, nearly fifty yards out. The paths of the rock gardens  
were like roughly dimpled ground, pressed down deeper in some places  
than others... the rocks themselves were invisible. He could see the  
grass, waving gently in the wind. He could see the master, sitting  
beside him. He could see the trees, rising tall, and reaching down into  
the ground... but they seemed smaller, and thinner than he expected, and  
almost perfectly smooth. He realized with a start, that their bark must  
not be alive. How strange. Then he realized that the Master looked bald.  
How strange. It was a very peculiar thing, since unlike normal sight,  
this seemed to reach all around him, even above and below.  
  
The master told him to wait, and went away. He returned shortly, and  
when they went to eat, the Lady did not join them. "Where is the Lady  
Alana, Sensei? She always eats with me."  
  
"I have sent her and the other women away, student, until you can learn  
to see clothes again," the old man replied, grinning at the wild blush  
that appeared immediately on the young boy's face. "Don't worry, it  
won't be long now. A few more days to master your sixth sense, and we  
will start on the seventh. The sixth sense, that you are using now, is a  
passive sense. You are simply accepting the information that other  
creatures are putting out. The seventh sense is an active sense. You  
will reach out and bathe an object in your ki, and the way your ki  
reacts will tell you about it."  
  
Only three days later, the Lady returned, and Ranma could see her as  
well as he could when he had his eyes... though he could see no color.  
He took her about the garden, delighting in his new sight, and  
wanting to show her how well it worked. He showed her exactly where  
spots of disease or decay had begun to set in in the plants. He told her  
how deep the bark of the trees were before the life began. He found a  
bird's egg, and described in exacting detail the tiny life within. He  
demonstrated his range and accuracy, by picking up two stones from the  
dry bed, and tossing one high in the air, then throwing the other stone  
at it, knocking it out of the air with a loud crack. He walked to a  
freshly turned spot of earth, and showed how he could see the worms  
beneath the surface, and reach out and tickle them with his ki, causing  
them to rise to lie wriggling on the surface, before they squirmed back  
within the damp earth. He stopped by a rose bush, and teased a closed  
bloom with his ki, standing several feet from it, and it twitched, and  
then opened smoothly.  
  
A short while later, the master rejoined them. "Lady, I must apologize.  
I could scarcely credit the speed of learning you described to me, and  
so I accepted the three months as a minimum. I have taught him, in this  
week, all that I can, all that I know. He is now a master of the Shining  
Darkness, but his sight will not return until the three months have  
passed. I am sorry."  
  
"It is quite alright, Sensei," replied Ranma happily, "I can see fine  
anyway." He bowed deeply. "Thank you, Master Kagano. I will always  
remember your gift of sight." The Lady bowed with him, and then the  
Master left them.  
  
They stood alone now, in the garden, and Ranma turned to the Lady, a  
curious look in his sightless eyes. "Lady, if I may ask... why is your  
ki shaped like a dragon, circling about you? Is that why you were  
announced at the court of Farallon as a dragon lady?"  
  
So she told him, finally, pouring out the truth, and as she did, she   
cried inside. She felt hopeless. She knew that he would be hurt that she  
had not told him before, but she had so loved him. She did not want to  
see his child's love for her fade. She told him who she was, and how she  
had been trapped. And she waited. She waited for the realization to show  
in his eyes, in his face, that she was not a beautiful lady, but a  
powerful and dangerous beast. That he held her in chains, a dragon, and  
he did not dare release her.   
  
Instead, she beheld a tear streaked face as he looked up at her, and he  
hugged her tightly. "I'm so sorry, Lady. I will free you, I promise I   
will find a way. I swear it." Tears fell from sightless eyes, as the   
young boy failed to marvel at the power he held in his hands. Instead,  
his grief for her had grown even greater. He had believed her a human  
woman, held against her will, and his heart had cried out against it.  
Raised Japanese as he was, by an honorless father, who drilled into  
him the weakness of women, and their proper place as the old fool saw  
it, he knew it was her place to serve a husband, and he weeped for her,  
forced to love a child, who could not love her as she deserved.   
  
Now, he knew the truth. In her bondage, she had lost far more than a  
human woman could possibly have lost. She had lost her true power, her  
glory, her body, the freedom of the skies, and the company of her  
brethren, and he wept for her loss. She found herself once again stunned  
by the beauty and purity of his soul.  
  
Suddenly he looked up at her again. His tears stilled and stopped. Her  
heart caught in her throat, as she looked at the sudden determination on  
his face. "I cannot free you yet, Lady, but I will. But until I can free  
you... at least I can be your wings!" He stepped back, drying his face  
on his sleeve. He took her hand then, and launched them both easily  
into the sky.   
  
Thereafter, he took her flying at least once a week. At least once a  
week, he entered the kitchens, and learned from the cooks, and made for  
her a special dish. And each week, he went to the library, and found a  
new song, and played it just for her, on the golden flute he had  
discovered the Dragon Fang could become. As each day passed, she felt  
her love for him grow stronger, leaving the love Fey's chains laid on  
her like a pale shadow of her love for him. She loved him as the son  
she never had, and knew that she could ask for none better.  
  
  
  
  



	9. The Challenger

The Challenger  
  
  
The day Master Kagano left, after they returned from their impromptu  
flight, the Lady took him back for more lessons in magic, and this  
continued each day. He found that with his new sight, he could actually  
see, as well as feel, the threads that made up the magic, and he quickly  
mastered all the magical attacks she had shown him.   
  
A week and a half after Master Kagano left, the Lady came to him, as he  
was doing his katas in a garden, enjoying the light of the morning sun,  
and told him that a challenger had come. Soon, she had taken him to the  
throne room. He had been there before, and found it a dreary place.   
  
A huge many pillared hall of cut granite and smooth marble, it was  
magnificent but dead. The Lady dealt with all disputes, and so he never  
needed to sit in judgment, or listen to long boring speeches. The  
throne room was therefore an empty place, and he disliked it. But he sat  
there now, ensconced on the throne.   
  
He felt silly sitting on it. He knew he looked the part of a Lord, as he  
sat there in his Dragon Armor, his boyish face mostly concealed by the  
silvery helm. But the throne was built to a far larger scale, and he  
felt like a little boy in it, his feet not even close to reaching the  
floor. As he sat, the Lady sat by his side, in a slightly smaller chair,  
and it made the difference seem even greater. But he was the Lord, and  
must needs sit in the Lord's chair.   
  
Side doors opened, and his personal guard trooped in. He was quite  
thankful that the Lady had managed to convince them that he did not  
really need a bodyguard with him at all times. It would have been quite  
inconvenient. You can't really go leaping from garden to wall to tower  
when you have to keep your bodyguard with you, unless you carry him, and  
that would be embarrassing to all involved.  
  
They formed two long lines on either side of the central aisle. Finally,  
the far doors opened, and a bugle sounded, and a voice announced, "The  
Lord Kyris." The man who stepped through the doors was massive, heavily  
muscled, nearly seven feet tall. He was easily the largest man Ranma had  
ever seen. His chest was massive, and his legs were like stout tree  
trunks. He was wearing field plate, much as Lord Roga had, and he  
clanked and clattered as he stomped his way up to stand before the dais.  
  
"I come to issue a challenge! Lord Fey, I challenge you to a duel for  
the lands and rights of Fey, to be decided by the sword!" His voice was  
deep and rough, and when he mentioned a sword, Ranma's eyes flicked to  
his right side... but nothing hung there. He looked to the left.  
Nothing there either. Then he saw the hilt, protruding over the Lord's  
right shoulder.   
  
The Lady spoke, then. "Lord Kyris, it is traditional for the challenger  
to name the prize, and the challenged to name the time, place, and  
manner of the bout. Why do you seek to flout tradition?"  
  
Kyris paled beneath his armor. Damn it, why did that witch have to  
interfere? The boy surely wouldn't have known that. Now he'd end up  
facing the Lord's spells, and surely lose, even if the brat was blind.  
  
The Lord Fey spoke, and Kyris was surprised at his words. "It is  
alright, Lady. I do not fear this man's sword, six feet long though it  
be. It is well-notched with his wins, but it will not avail him."  
  
Kyris cringed inside. Damnit, the boy was blind, how could he see the  
blade? Even had the message lied, and the boy could see, he still  
couldn't see the sword, strapped to his back as it was. Then he  
brightened. The Lady must have coached him on what to say.   
  
"Shall we retire to the Dojo, then, Lord Kyris?" Lord Fey asked, and  
standing, led the way.  
  
Soon, they were facing off inside of an immense dojo within a circle of  
Lord Fey's guards. "To death or surrender?" Lord Fey asked, pleasantly.  
Lord Kyris just growled, and drew his six foot blade. It was a heavy  
sword, one that few men could wield, even two handed. Six foot long in  
the blade, with another foot of hilt, the blade was two hands wide at  
the base, and still a hand wide at the tip, where it finally came to a  
point. Both sides of the blade were sharpened, and as Ranma had already  
noted, the blade was notched in several places.  
  
Ranma drew his own blade, and again it became a four foot katana. Lord  
Kyris realized, just as he made his first swing, ignoring the   
possibility of defense as he assumed the boy could not see it, that it  
had been Lord Fey who had lead them to the dojo. Damnit, he wasn't  
blind!   
  
His eyes were drawn by his mistake to Lord Fey's eyes, visible despite  
the helm, and they were unmoving, unnaturally still as Fey's sword swept  
up and turned aside Kyris's blade. No, he was blind all right... but  
then, how the devil had he turned aside that thrust. Perhaps the noise  
of the blade in the air...  
  
Kyris began a slow thrust with his blade, moving slowly so as to avoid  
stirring the air audibly, but his blade was instantly slapped aside.  
Realizing that he was leaving himself open, Kyris stopped trying to  
figure this out, and let his fighting instincts take over. Soon he was  
deeply engaged in the slash and parry, and was quite disturbed to find  
that the boy could take the strongest blow and turn it aside without  
flinching.   
  
Ranma grinned inwardly, as he discovered the ki training under the Tai  
Chi Master had corrected the deficiency he had noted in his fight with  
Grael and Lord Roga. Ki now flowed through his arms as he parried,  
lending him the needed strength.  
  
At first, Kyris assumed that it was the blade that was somehow, possibly  
magically, turning aside or absorbing the force of his blow. But the boy  
showed no strain when he blocked another blow with his arm guard.  
Indeed, Kyris was perturbed to note, there was a slow grin forming on  
the boy's face.  
  
Angered by the boy's casualness, and his interminable failure to find an  
opening in Fey's defenses, Kyris stepped up the attack, putting even  
more strength into his swings, and attacking furiously. He was quite  
disturbed then, when he realized that even as he was attacking harder,  
the boy was steadily forcing him back.  
  
The boy finally seemed to be tiring. His parries were coming slower, and  
gradually getting weaker. Kyris noticed a sudden opening in the boy's  
defenses, but he was so startled to see it that he missed it. But he  
watched closer, and the next time an opening appeared, he lunged for it,  
only to have the boy slip past it, getting within the range of his  
sword, the boy's blade suddenly at his throat. "Game over," the boy   
said, "yield." It had been a feint, a trap, and he had fallen for it.  
Kyris dropped his sword.  
  
"I yield," he said, and sighed with relief when the boy stood back from  
him. "You were supposed to be blind, damnit," he snarled. The boy slid  
his sword in his sheath, and smiling still, picked up Kyris's sword  
easily in one hand, handing it back to him. Kyris stared in shock at  
this evidence of the boy's strength.  
  
"I am," the boy replied, grinning. "Quite blind, and will be for a while  
yet. I enjoyed the match. Feel free to come again." He turned his back  
and sauntered off, whistling, followed by the Lady, and the guards,  
leaving Kyris standing in the dojo, alone. He had been beaten handily by  
a blind boy. It was unbelievable, just unbelievable. He had tried to  
take everything the boy had, and he said he enjoyed it, and come again?   
  
Kyris shuddered, as a wave of fear swept over him. It had been the boy's  
choice to say death or surrender. He could have said death alone, and  
taken Kyris' life. Kyris decided that he owed a life-debt to the boy. He  
would begin to repay it by asking his King to follow the Court of  
Farallon's example, and sue for peace with the boy. He returned to his  
home, musing over how he would repay his debt.   
  
Ranma meanwhile felt a surge of relief as he moved beyond the Lord  
Kyris's sight. Having to constantly use his ki to observe the massive  
man's attacks while at the same time shoring up his own strength deficit  
had cost him dearly. He had been forced to use a feint, drawing the Lord  
Kyris into a trap. It galled him, though it was a tactic his father  
would have applauded.   
  
Then again, his father had always told him to fight all out, all the  
time. Ranma had forced himself, against his own objections, to disregard  
that advice during his first fight with a naked blade. Defending against  
Grael's attacks, he had realized that fighting all-out with a sword  
meant fighting to kill, and he had been filled with revulsion at the  
thought. He was a martial artist, not some killer, even if he was  
forced to fight with a sword.   
  
So he fought with caution, holding his true power in reserve, seeking a  
way to end the fight. He had continued this against Lord Roga for the  
same reasons, and come to a startling realization. Had he gone all out  
against the Lord Roga, he would never have had the opportunity to fight  
the Lord's double-bladed style, and he would have come away with less  
improvement in his own skill. Pondering that had led him to the  
decision that matching his apparent skill level to his opponents was the  
best way to get them to demonstrate new techniques, and to improve his  
skills.   
  
Sure, he could simply have used the Juushin Jisei Ryuu, perhaps in the  
form of an invisible punch, or merely using it to immobilize his  
opponent, or even employed the Neko-ken, now that he could do so  
without going insane... but what would he have learned? After all, he  
did not fight to beat his opponents, but to become the best. Not that  
being the best didn't mean winning... but if he didn't learn from each  
fight, then he would eventually be beaten by someone more willing to  
learn than himself.   
  
Nonetheless, the ki techniques he'd had to use to match the Lord Kyris  
had been draining, and he had been forced to resort to trickery. While  
it was an acceptable way to win, being merely a minor variation of the  
traditional feints that are part of nearly every sword style, it irked  
him. It wasn't so much that it was something of which his father would  
approve, but rather the simple fact that he had been forced to cut the  
fight short that irritated him.   
  
That was one reason he had invited the Lord Kyris to return. By the time  
the Lord Kyris chose to take him up on his offer, assuming he did so,  
Ranma intended to be ready to go the whole distance, to draw out Lord  
Kyris's full skill, and learn all he could from him. Ranma would not  
make the mistake of assuming that merely because an opponent was  
defeatable, he knew nothing worth learning.   
  
---  
  
"So the brat's blind, is he? Perfect... I'll have to think... back an  
open challenger, or use an assassin? Hmm..." Krall pondered, delighted  
at the latest news from the land of Fey.  
  
"Oh," replied Friss, "and what would you think of the Lord Kyris as a  
suitable challenger, hmm?"  
  
Krall shot Friss a glance. Very unusual it was, for Friss to offer  
suggestions as to how Krall should run his affairs, enough so for Krall  
to take particular notice. He considered the question. "Well... common  
talk is that Kyris is one of the few who could probably take Lord Roga,  
though they've yet to meet in competition. He wields a six foot blade,  
I'm told, not unusual in itself, but it is double-edged and massive.  
He's an immensely strong fellow, and surprisingly quick for his size.  
He's also very proud of his successes, and he's exhibited jealousy of  
other warriors with reputations before, so he's manipulable. An  
interesting idea, Friss, that might be a good answer. Why do you suggest  
him?"  
  
"Because he's already done it, Krall, Kyris went and challenged the  
blind boy."  
  
Krall sat up straight, staring at the spymaster. "Truly? And what  
happened?"  
  
"The boy toyed with him, then forced him to yield, just as with Roga.  
And just as with Roga, Kyris is now a supporter of the boy, and he's  
turned several of his fellow lords into fans. We may well lose the whole  
kingdom to a peace with Fey."  
  
"Damnit! That doesn't make sense. I would have judged Kyris the sort to  
take a beating, and shut his mouth about it. How did he manage to  
swallow his pride?"  
  
"He's been telling the story since he returned, to any who'll listen. He  
challenged the boy as he sat on the Lord Fey's throne, and the boy  
commented on the length and notches on his sword, though it was on his  
back and sheathed. He assumed the Lady had coached him. The boy agreed  
to swords, even though the Lady prevented Kyris from stipulating it when  
he tried. They fought in the dojo, and Kyris says that at the end of it,  
as with Lord Roga, the boy easily lifted the sword and returned it to  
him. That's not a light sword, as you know. Further, the boy admitted to  
being blind, and said he would be for a while yet. Then, apparently, he  
told Kyris that he enjoyed it, and to come back anytime."  
  
"Unbelievable. Well, obviously we can't take him out directly. Take some  
time, pick the best man, and send in an assassin. Its time to deal with  
this," growled Krall.   
  
He was privately worried about the news. The boy was moving too quickly  
to consolidate his relationship with his neighbors, and if he got there  
first, it would hamper Krall's efforts to gain political leverage. Damn  
that boy! If he even was a boy. From the sound of things, he was far  
stronger than anyone that age and size had a right to be. Krall idly  
wondered if it might be another therianthrope, another were-creature.  
  
  
  
  



	10. Wisdom in Passing

Wisdom in Passing  
  
  
On the day that his sight returned, the Lady came to him. "Ranma, now  
that you can defend yourself against most magical attacks, and are not  
dependent on your eyes, it is time for us to make a long journey. We  
will travel alone, just the two of us. We must go and visit my sister.  
You have mastered the technique of the Neko-ken, and I think she can  
help you master the madness of the Neko-ken, and your fear. But it will  
be dangerous... Dragons are fickle, and little concerned with mortal  
things. Will you come, and try to master your fear?"  
  
Ranma paused a while in thought, suppressing his immediate  
response, as he had learned from Tenchi, to form a more appropriate   
response, one that took into account the respect she was due.   
  
"Yes, Lady. For you, I will come. But will it not hurt you, to see her,  
to look again on what you have lost?" His eyes were full with fear for  
her, and pain at the thought of her pain, and again he touched her soul  
with his remarkable kindness and purity. It would be some time yet  
before the Soul of Ice practice he worked on would be able to conceal  
his emotions from the eyes of a dragon.  
  
"Oh, Ranma. Don't dwell on that. Think of my joy, rather, at seeing my  
sister, whom I have not seen in more than a hundred years," she  
insisted, smiling down at him, forcing her pain down where he could not  
see it, so that he would see only joy in her eyes, unaware that she was  
mimicking the same tactic he sought to use on her. He smiled then, and  
nodded.  
  
They prepared quickly. Alana taught him several spells that were  
particularly useful for traveling. She taught him how to increase the  
capacity of a container, how to store items in a pocket dimension, how  
to enchant a container or pocket dimension to preserve food and other  
perishables, and several similar magical effects.  
  
He mastered the spells quickly, and when they left the castle, he was  
carrying a single backpack that held everything they would need.   
  
The first part of their trek was quite uneventful. They were escorted by  
a company of his men, just as they had been the first time they went to  
Farallon. They were met by the border guards when they reached Farallon,  
and his men turned back. The border captain again detailed ten men to  
accompany the Lord Fey and the Lady Alana. He recognized three of them,  
and they were surprised and pleased when he remembered their names. The  
first night in Farallon, when he brought out his golden flute to play  
for the Lady, several of the border guards brought out reed flutes, and  
joined him in an impromptu concert.   
  
While they occasionally slept under the stars, most of their nights in  
Fey and Farallon were spent in small inns. He enjoyed the nights in the  
open, though, perhaps even more. He would cook, and the border guards  
praised his skill, though his only concern was for the Lady. But even  
more, he enjoyed the good-natured bantering of the men as they watched  
him perform his katas. By the time they reached the far border of  
Farallon, he had ten eager students. They asked about training with him,  
and he had to promise to let them know when he was ready to open his  
dojo to students.  
  
Arkus watched the journey, but didn't try to interfere. He was nursing a  
growing hatred for the boy. The damned sprout had been blind, and still  
beaten Lord Kyris. Furthermore, just to make things even worse, he had  
somehow managed to gain Kyris' respect, and instead of keeping his damn  
mouth shut about being beaten by a blind boy, the fool had told all his  
fellow nobles. Now his fool king had made peace with the infuriating  
whelp.   
  
The damn boy should have been killed twice over, now, and instead he had  
made peace with his two largest neighbors. With two of the Five  
Kingdoms enjoying the fruits of peace with Lord Fey, it was likely to be  
only a matter of time before the other three followed suit.  
  
Oh well, he thought. Third time's the charm. He chuckled, and began to  
manipulate people in the lands before them. He wasn't sure where they  
were going, but they were headed in the right general direction to lead  
them into an encounter with Lord Ereth, the Black Hunter, and his  
Hounds. With them as the targets of the Endless Hunt, whatever plans  
they had made would be foiled, and there was just the possibility that  
they would be killed. Certainly Lord Ereth was more than capable of  
it...  
  
---  
  
The next day, for the first time, Ranma and Alana walked into the forest  
alone. The concern he felt for the Lady led him to understand why she  
had waited for the Shining Darkness training before making this trip. It  
went beyond him being able to see perfectly in the dark night, otherwise  
so perfect for an ambush. It even went beyond his not needing to wait  
after looking away from the fire for his eyes to adjust.   
  
It was the ability of his senses to reach out nearly fifty yards in all  
directions around them, sensing the life and seeing the forms no matter  
how hidden. As long as he used his sixth and seventh sense, they were  
pretty much immune to ambush. He began to feel better about the trip.  
The Lady had clearly known exactly what he would need to know to  
protect her. The stories of the great intellect and wisdom of dragons  
were obviously well-founded.   
  
He also discovered, now that they no longer had to worry about the   
stamina of the men traveling with them, that her stamina was far in  
excess of a normal person's, though still less than his own. Once he saw  
she could take it, they began marching twelve hour days, and moving at  
a much quicker pace than they had been.   
  
---  
  
Silvereye watched the two approaching figures in utter silence, hidden  
within the deep underbrush. Though even he could not see him, he knew  
that his eleven pack members were hidden nearby, awaiting his signal.  
This was the time, they would have their vengeance.  
  
The behavior of the smaller figure was clear, the deference and  
protectiveness it evinced to the female marked it as a defender, a  
protector, and the way it moved, the lithe grace and utter silence even  
as it crossed ground that had been deliberately littered with dry leaves  
and twigs spoke volumes for its skill. He was unclear on what exactly it  
was... a thin dwarf, a short elf, one of the many other races... but  
that it was this human's protector was obvious, and enough to seal its  
fate. Equally, the fact that the human rated a non-human protector  
indicated her high rank, and that rank in turn implied that the  
protector must be impressively skilled, for it to be considered  
sufficient by itself.   
  
In spite of their numbers, none of the watching warriors expected this  
to be an easy fight. Silvereye nervously noted a momentary pause in the  
motion of the fighter, and for a moment, he considered the possibility  
that the warrior had somehow detected their presence, but when the  
figure resumed its advance before he could complete his ruminations, he  
shook off the thought. There was no way they could have been detected...  
he himself could not detect the presence of his fellow warriors, even  
though he knew they were there, and could readily guess at their  
probable locations.  
  
Ranma's pause was fleeting, as he instantly decided that the best course  
of action would be to behave as though he were unaware of their  
presence. In this way, the advantage of surprise would be on his side,  
instead of theirs.  
  
He mentally placed each individual, and gauged their weaponry, and  
having done so, felt confident in his ability to take them down before  
they could reach the Lady, should that be their goal. There were no  
significant long-range weapons... daggers, and knives, but now bows or  
crossbows, nothing to indicate that they would fire from the ambush. He  
judged they would attack, rising from their hiding places to engage  
directly in melee. He readied himself to summon the Dragon Armor and the  
Fang, marking mentally the point on his path where he expected them to  
attack.  
  
At the same time, he considered the eleventh dan, the Juushin Jisei   
Ryuu, and focused it, forming an invisible shield of hardened air about  
his Lady. Hopefully, he would be able to maintain his concentration, so  
that this shield would repel any attempts to attack her from afar, with  
thrown weapons and the like.   
  
Finally, he selected the closest warrior to the point where he expected  
them to begin the attack, and altered his pattern of movement so that he  
would coincidentally end up in an appropriate position to attack that  
warrior.  
  
Silvereye moved very slowly, raising the bone whistle to his mouth, and  
gripping it with his lips. He drew in a slow breath, watching the  
warrior's steps, then lunged forward, blowing hard into the whistle. At  
the signal, his warriors rose as one, but even as he began his approach  
run, he saw the light glint golden off of the armor that his opponent  
now bore, as his cousin Redtip fell to the stranger's fist, seemingly  
before he even completed his rise.  
  
Ranma flowed forward, even as the warriors rose about him, and crossed  
the twenty feet to the nearest before that warrior had fully reached his  
feet, the Dragon Armor already upon him, and his armored fist took the  
rising warrior beneath the jaw, knocking him back, into a tree, and out  
of the fight.   
  
Ranma noted gratefully as he leapt back across the path that the  
warriors were focusing on him, and not the Lady, though he doubted not  
that she was their final target. He ignored the swish of a polearm as he  
bent his head but slightly in his passage, avoiding it. He placed his  
hand lightly on the moving haft, and added a little extra pressure,  
sending that warrior stumbling forward, as his strong swing and the  
added force knocked him off balance. The unbalanced warrior was not  
Ranma's target though, merely suffering from his passage.  
  
Even as he executed the manuever, Ranma was forced to reluctantly  
release his seventh sense. Pushing his ki out actively was simply too  
expensive while trying to maintain his Juushin Jisei Shiirudo around the  
lady. The sixth sense would have to serve, thought it would only warn  
him of his enemies' location, and not the movements of their weapons.  
  
Ranma reached the next chosen target, catching the forceful downward  
stroke of the sword in his clapped hands, and he twisted, snapping the  
blade, before firing a quick punch to the warrior's gut, which brought  
its head down close enough to receive an uppercut that was powered by  
Ranma's legs as he leapt to avoid a wide sweep by a bo-staff. He landed  
lightly on the staff, to its wielder's momentary surprise, and took  
advantage of that instant of indecision to launch a spin-kick into the  
warrior's head, sending him to join the other two unconscious warriors  
in indelicate slumber.  
  
The next warrior in range saw Ranma's leap as an opportunity, while his  
opponent's moves were temporarily dictated by gravity, to send a  
forceful spear thrusting through him. Unfortunately, he was not aware  
that Ranma was first and foremost a practitioner of his father's art,  
which excelled in mid-air combat. Merging this with the Tai Chi  
redirection of force, Ranma caught the incoming spear and thrust  
strongly off of it with his hands, which simultaneously sent the  
thrusting warrior crashing to the ground, and launched Ranma in an arc,  
planting his feet into the face of a mace wielding warrior.   
  
Ranma dropped to his knees on the warrior's back, dropping a gauntleted  
fist heavily onto the back of his skull, marking the fourth knock-out,  
and neatly avoiding the angled sweep of another sword, that slashed  
ineffectually through the airspace he had just vacated.  
  
Silvereye could scarcely believe the skill the small warrior displayed.  
Mere seconds into the fight and four warriors were down already. He  
marveled at the agility the fighter displayed even in such heavy armor,  
and the sheer strength it must take to make such leaps with its weight,   
even as he pulled back slightly, his swing having missed.  
  
Clearly, this was not a fighter against whom brute tactics would be  
effective. Silvereye barked a command, and the fighting style of his men  
shifted, moving from an overpowering yet apparently futile style, to one  
emphasizing precision and focus.   
  
Silvereye leapt back, narrowly avoiding a leg sweep, perfectly executed,  
even as the warrior used the move's momentum to catch a thrust sword and  
pull it from its wielder's hands, then, in a dazzling display of sheer  
strength, he halted and reversed the hard spin in an instant, driving  
the hilt of the sword into its former wielder's skull.   
  
The armored warrior dove into a forward roll, before arching his back,  
launching himself feet first upward, his legs wrapping around another  
fighter's neck, then he twisted and spun, bringing the larger man up and  
over his head before he released his leg-lock. The hapless fighter went  
flying and crashed heavily into Silvereye, even as Ranma caught the mace  
he dropped, and flung it sharply to the side, impacting on a skull with  
a resounding meaty thud.   
  
The final four warriors leapt for him as one, even as he landed, and  
sprang again, putting real force into his jump this time, taking him  
easily twenty feet over them. He looked down on them as they collided  
with one another, then went into a spinning cyclone kick as he dropped  
back into their range.  
  
---  
  
Silvereye fought down the pain throbbing in his head, before slowly  
cracking his eyes open, wincing at the pain that flared as a result.  
Through slitted lids, he peered about the camp, noting that the female  
human and her protector were sitting by a campfire. He moved his arms  
slightly, and his eyes snapped wide in surprise when he felt no  
restraint.   
  
He sat up slowly, looking to his men, laying about him, surprised more  
than he could imagine at the sheer audacity, the unimaginable confidence  
of the woman's guardian, to not even remove their weapons, much less tie  
them up, or restrain them in some fashion.   
  
He grimaced as he was forced to admit to himself that the warrior's  
confidence was justified. He had defeated twelve of the Howling Moon  
Clan's finest warriors, their champion among them, and he had done it  
without using any weapon but what he took from his attackers, without  
using lethal force, in under a minute. Truly a remarkable warrior.  
Silvereye blanched then, realizing the deeper implications. His entire  
band had been defeated by someone so powerful that he felt no need to  
restrain them, nor remove their weapons... there was nothing they could  
do to prevent any retribution he might choose to take. They were no  
better than his slaves now.  
  
What would the woman and her guardian do with them, he wondered, staring  
at them through the darkness. Tears sprang to his eyes, though he  
refused to let them fall, as he thought of his beautiful young bride...  
he was sure she was expecting... he could picture his litter now, the  
handsome young pups... but he would never see them again. He would  
not show his pain, his fear, not before such a warrior. He would not  
demean himself or his clan.  
  
Around him his packmates groaned as they awakened, but he held his eyes  
on the two who sat by the fire, noticing that the taller sounded...  
sounded like she was chanting something. So... she was a spellcaster  
then, of some sort. He wondered what she was casting... he had heard  
many stories of the powers of such beings, powers that went well beyond  
the capabilities, impressive though they were, of the shamans of the  
clans.  
  
Would she destroy them with a magical blast... or turn them into  
mindless animals... perhaps she would bind them with a magical geas? He  
started, realizing that she had stopped chanting. He glanced quickly  
about, but could discern no visible effect, though he saw that several  
of his men had recovered sufficiently to sit up, and look about  
themselves.   
  
He turned his attention back to the fire, and watched the warrior  
stand and stride towards him. The woman stood smoothly and followed.  
Noticing their approach, the more conscious around him straightened, and  
nudged their fellows. By the time the two stood before him where he sat,  
his packmates were sitting and watching as one, in silence.  
  
When the warrior said nothing, Silvereye recognized that it was his  
place to speak for his pack. He stood slowly, watching for any negative  
response from the warrior, and bowed deeply. "I am Silvereye, leader of  
this hunting pack of the Howling Moon Clan. We acknowledge our defeat,  
and surrender ourselves to the mercies of thy judgment." He heard the  
slight shuffling around him, and realized that some of his men were only  
now realizing the true consequences of their defeat, and the likelihood  
that they would never see their mates or pups again.  
  
Silvereye did not dare mention their mates, though, lest this warrior be  
one of the dark humans, the sort who would take such a request as an  
invitation to claim the innocent as his own as well, rather then as a  
reason for mercy.  
  
"I am the Lord Fey," replied the warrior, in their tongue, to the  
surprise of the pack. Silvereye shuddered. Dark human indeed, Lord Fey  
was known to the pack... not quite human, not quite elf, but all dark.  
  
"I would know why you sought to attack me."  
  
"It... it is a long tale, Lord." Silvereye expected no mercy from one  
such as the Lord Fey, and did not want to waste his breath offering  
explanations that would have no effect on their fates. The warrior was  
insistent, however, and a short time later Silvereye found himself  
seated by his captor's fire, telling the tale of his people.  
  
They had roamed the lands freely, a nomadic people, hunting for meat,  
and gathering plants for food and medicine, until humanity encroached on  
their lands, and they were driven out. Since then, they had been forced  
steadily further from their homes, and had declared a vendetta on  
humanity.  
  
"Yet even as far as we have come, we have heard tales of the Lord Fey.  
What do you intend to do with us, Lord?" Silvereye was tired of beating  
around the bush. What was the point of making useless explanations to  
one who was known to never offer mercy? He had little doubt that the  
manner in which the Lord had avoided lethal force indicated his  
intention to either take them as slaves, or sell them.  
  
"The tales you may have heard are irrelevant, Silvereye," stated the  
warrior, "I am not the Lord Fey of whom you have heard tell. That dread  
lord is dead, slain by my hand."  
  
Silvereye was startled by this, and began to worry whether his foolish  
assumptions might have ruined any chance he and his pack would otherwise  
have had for leniency. "I... I was unaware, my Lord. Still, on behalf of  
my people, I must ask... what are your intentions? Do you intend to take  
us as slaves? To sell us?"  
  
Ranma eyed the warrior. This was the first opportunity Ranma had had to  
simply look at him. He was a strong one, that was clear, hard muscles  
easily visible in spite of the concealing fur. He looked like a strange  
mix between a wolf and a man, and the source of his name was clear, in  
the blaze of silver that made a slash across one eye, like two triangles,  
one pointing down his cheek, one pointing up his forehead, that met at  
the eye.  
  
"I have no need of slaves, nor money," replied Ranma, glancing at Alana  
to see how she would react to his attempt to handle the situation, "but  
I have a few things to say concerning this vendetta of yours."  
  
Ranma had listened to the story the pack leader had told, and pondered  
as he did so how to respond. He remembered the lessons Alana had given  
him, regarding the defeats and successes he had experienced during their  
first incursion into Farallon. He approached this now as a battle, and  
recognized that a frontal assault would produce a reaction similar to  
the insults his father used to goad him into action.   
  
Such means were easily used to goad him into taking the initiative, but   
ineffective, generally, at getting him to cease whatever he was doing.  
When his father had tried to prevent him from behaving in certain ways,  
the insults never seemed to help, merely drawing out his stubbornness  
and pride, making him dig in his heels further. No, to prevent actions  
and behaviors, his father had resorted to beatings. Well... Ranma had in  
fact just delivered a beating, but he needed to impart this suggestion  
in a more subtle manner... otherwise, he would activate the pride  
reaction, and be forced to deliver a second beating... and he was all  
too aware, at this stage, that he had taken hits he had not even been  
aware of during the earlier fight. It worried him, but what concerned  
him more was the realization that he didn't have enough energy to fight  
a disabling fight a second time. If it came to a fight again, he would  
have to employ the Juushin Jisei, and the Neko-ken, to end the fight  
quickly... and some would die.  
  
Recognizing this, Ranma sought for an alternative way of saying what  
needed to be said, and found it when he remembered a book of parables  
the Lady had had him read. One in particular seemed appropriate, though  
it was intended to explain something completely different. Well, he  
would try it, at least. If worst came to worst, he could always deliver  
another beating. Ranma focused his memory, working to both remember the  
story, and to modernize the language, which had been annoyingly archaic,  
and taken him some time to puzzle out, when he first read it.  
  
"There was a woodsman, once, who lived in a deep forest. He had only one  
child, and his wife had died in childbirth, so his only son became the  
center of his life.  
  
"One day, while he was with his son in a glade deep within the wood, a  
storm came in with great suddenness, and they fled into the woods,  
seeking their cabin. Before they reached it, a bolt of lightning struck  
from the sky, and hit a tree on the path before them.  
  
"Before the man had a chance to react, the tree fell, bringing another  
tree with it in its crashing descent, and his son was crushed beneath  
its weight.  
  
"Defying the storm, he swore vengeance. Staring at the tree that had  
killed his son, he declared that he would not rest until he had slain  
every tree there was.  
  
"When the storm died down, and he rose from his tears, he realized the  
futility of his claim. Being a woodsman, he was experienced in the art  
of cutting down trees, and well knew how long it could take. Never could  
a single man hope to cut down every tree there was, not within a dozen  
lifetimes.  
  
"Then what could he do? He considered a vendetta against every  
wide-leafed tree, for it was indeed a mighty oak that had fallen upon  
his son, and if he could ignore the great forests of pine, the evergreen  
forests that never lose their cover, surely it would be more reasonable.  
  
"Yet a moment's thought showed the folly in that, for even in just the  
forests where all the leaves fall there were still more trees than any  
man might hew in a lifetime.  
  
"Perhaps, he said, only the oaks would do. Yet now he came upon a  
greater pain, for how was he even to find every oak, mixing in as they  
were with so many other trees, and how to know that he had not missed  
any?  
  
"He continued in this vain, considering every oak in this forest in  
which he lived, then every oak more than three feet around in this  
forest, and so forth, until finally he recognized the truth.   
  
"The only tree upon which he could reasonably claim vengeance, was the  
one which had slain his son... and it was already dead."  
  
Ranma fell silent then, as the rest of the tale spoke of the man  
building a pyre from the remains of that tree, upon which he laid his  
son, and consigned them together to the flames. The story had been  
making some weird point about the propriety of cremation, or the origins  
of it, or some such, that hadn't really made sense to him at the time,  
but to Ranma, the directed revelation about the cost of vengeance was a  
more poignant lesson, one that fit much better into his own world-view.  
  
After all, who could he blame for the consequences of his father's  
actions... and did the pain inflicted upon him by the Neko-ken give him  
any right to seek vengeance upon other cats? Or even the cats that  
inflicted it, for had they in fact had any choice? It was an issue that  
he had thought long about, while learning to control the Neko-ken under  
the Tai Chi Chuan master.  
  
When he finished, Silvereye sat in silence for a long moment, pondering  
the meaning of the warrior's tale. He was somewhat startled merely by  
the implications that this warrior was concerned about issues of honor.  
The evidence he had seen heretofore indicated that humans were  
honorless.  
  
Was it possible, that one human could be as different from another as an  
oak from a yew, a pine from a willow?  
  
Seeing no immediate response, Ranma waited a short time, then spoke  
again, having thought of another appropriate tale that also emphasized  
differences in trees.  
  
"On the banks of wide stream grew two trees. One was a great oak, tall  
and straight, that raised its head to the heavens, and towered over the  
stream. Beneath it, straining for the sun, but often blocked from it by  
the shade of the larger oak, grew a slender willow tree.  
  
"Often the oak would boast of its strength, taunting the willow with its  
size and girth. 'I am greater than you, small willow,' it would say, 'I  
am stronger and better than you.' Never did the willow reply, for it  
knew the uselessness of boasting, and did not value conflict for its own  
safe.  
  
"And it came to be that there was a great storm, that came in from the  
sea, and it brought with it mighty winds. The willow bent with the wind,  
limber as a reed, but the oak stood firm against it, and defied the  
wind.  
  
"The storm grew in fury, and the force of the winds increased steadily,  
until the oak could no longer stand against it, and with a great crack,  
the oak was broken, and cast down to lie dying in the stream.  
  
"When the storm abated, the willow looked upon the remains of the dead  
oak, and commented, 'Sometimes, it is better to bend. When one knows  
only strength, then one is vulnerable to that which is stronger than  
oneself.'  
  
"Then it looked upon the reeds at the water's edge, broken by the force  
of the oak's fall, and commented, 'But without strength, not even  
bending will avail.' And the willow basked in the unfiltered light of  
the sun."  
  
Silvereye pondered the meaning of the words, and noted two ways in which  
it applied to his people. Some humans were oaks, some willows, some  
reeds, that was clear enough. Yet what were his own people? Were they  
oaks, willows, or reeds? Was it perhaps, a choice that must be made?  
  
"You have great wisdom, Lord, and you speak rightly. Perhaps our feud is  
not rightly with all humans... But... have we bent too far, Lord, or  
have we not yet bent enough?"  
  
Ranma flipped through the books in his head, looking for a way to  
respond, and slowly put one together, finding pieces here and there,   
working with the metaphor of trees, and the knowledge that this man  
was a warrior, then finally spoke. "Only you can judge that. There are  
some, though, who see value in a tree only while it is alive, and   
provides a shelter for some, food for others, shade for still more. To  
others, a tree is useful only when dead, to serve for fire, shelter, and  
weapons. To the wise, a tree serves both purposes, and when one dies,  
they plant another. Useful as a dead tree may be, if in the end all the  
trees lie dead, then their use is at an end. Look not to either extreme,  
but find the right balance... and like the balance of a warrior, each  
must find a balance for himself, for the master knows that his balance  
will not aid his student."  
  
Silvereye nodded. That seemed clear enough. His warriors were trees, and  
like the women, some were of advantage only in life, in healing, in  
gathering and preparing food, in planting new seeds of life, while some,  
like his warriors, were of use in death, placing their lives at risk to  
protect the others. And in that a balance must be reached, lest the  
women be left with no men to plant new seeds. He knew the difficulty of  
finding that balance, between the hunting and raiding parties, and  
caring for their families, and what the warrior was saying was that...  
  
"The humans who invade our lands... they are a storm, and we must find a  
balance between standing against them, and bending before them," he  
mused aloud, watching the warrior's reactions to see if he had judged  
the lesson rightly, "and perhaps... they are like a nest of bees that  
has been stirred up, from whose range one must retreat... and in  
defiance of them, we have been poking the nests of quiet bees, to  
avenge ourselves against the angry ones." He shook his head at that  
realization, then chuckled, "only this time, it was a hornet's nest,  
that stings and stings again, where the bee stings but once. And lucky  
were we that the hornet had already slain the poisonous spider that we  
otherwise would have disturbed."  
  
Having watched the warrior's face, which he was beginning to realize was  
surprisingly youthful, as well as human, showing no signs of the  
distinctive features of the other races, he was sure he had rightly  
judged the lessons the warrior sought to impart, and was in turn  
impressed at the way in which the warrior succeeded in offering a hard  
lesson without making it difficult to accept.  
  
"You are young, yet you are a warrior the like of which the pack has  
never seen, and your words carry undeniable wisdom. I have heard your  
words, Lord, will you let my pack go?"  
  
"I will, Silvereye. I hold no malice for you. You have listened, and you  
have heard. It is well." Ranma was here quoting from a story he had  
rather enjoyed. The wolves to whom that hero had been speaking were not  
half-wolves, but a true pack of wild animals, but Ranma thought that it  
sounded appropriate.  
  
Silvereye nodded sharply, surprised at hearing the ancient words of the  
pact-maker. "Then I name thee Swiftfang, Wolf-Friend and Pack-Brother  
to the Clan of the Howling Moon as long as the pack shall last. May I  
ask where you are heading, Brother?"  
  
"We are going to meet a dragon... hmm... I have been lax in my  
duties. I failed to introduce you, Milady. Silvereye, this is the Lady  
Alana."  
  
Silvereye bowed to the Lady. "An honor and pleasure, Milady."  
  
Ranma silently blessed his luck, several hours later, as the warriors  
drifted off into the night. His concentration during the fight had  
allowed him to ignore the blows, and he hadn't even really noticed them.  
His armor had prevented any serious injury, but he had been quite  
startled when the fight was over, to realize how many blows had actually  
made it through his defenses, and how spent he was from maintaining the  
Juushin Jisei Shiirudo during the combat. He had fought so hard to say  
the right thing because he was afraid that had they attacked again, he  
would not have had the energy to defend both himself and the Lady.  
  
---  
  
Friss glided through the lowering shadows, wondering idly how his  
acquaintance and employer would react to the latest news. The assassin  
had been prepared and sent on his way, only to return with the news that  
the target had fled. It was uncertain whether the target knew of the  
attempt or not, but Friss had then learned from contacts in Farallon  
that the target and the Lady had passed through, and exited the land  
unescorted.   
  
Well, perhaps it would take the edge off of Krall's anger to learn of  
the roving bandits that had just happened, quite by coincidence, you  
understand, to take up positions on the border of Farallon where they  
would be well-placed to intercept the target's return. Hidden amongst  
them were two well-trained assassins. Friss smiled darkly to himself. It  
really didn't matter how Krall reacted. He was right, in any case, it  
was time to take out that nuisance before he could become too  
politically powerful.  
  
  
  
  



	11. The Huntsman and the Hounds

The Huntsman and the Hounds  
  
  
On the morning of the third day beyond the borders of Farallon, they  
came across a wide road that came down from the north, and then curved  
to the west, close to their own path, and he realized that the Lady had  
been leading them to this.  
  
They had been moving at a good clip down the road for nearly two hours,  
when they heard hoofbeats behind them, and moved quickly to the side of  
the road. They stopped to wait, wanting to be prepared for whomever  
might be coming up the road behind them. Shortly thereafter, the  
horse galloped into view.   
  
The horseman was riding hard, but pulled up quickly when he espied them.  
He was tall, with dark, wavy hair, and wore dusty riding leathers over  
what looked to be a green jerkin and brown leggings. A sheathed sword  
hung from his waist, angled to the rear, chafing against the saddlebags,  
leaving a score through the dirt that had accumulated thereon.  
  
"Milord," he said, loudly to be heard over his horse's hard breathing,  
and Ranma looked down in surprise, to realize that he had summoned the  
Dragon Armor without really thinking about it. He had not expected to be  
addressed thusly, but in this gear, he did indeed look the part, if a  
bit short for it still. He had grown several inches though. He ate much  
better now, than when with his father. "and Milady," the rider  
continued, "ye should get as far from the road as ye can, and quickly.  
The huntsmen cannot be far behind." His breath was short, and ragged. He  
looked tired. Ranma glanced at the Lady. They could run if need be, but  
why fear huntsman?   
  
She frowned. "The Huntsman of Lord Ereth?"   
  
The rider nodded. "Ye've heard of them I see... then ye know why ye  
must flee. Hurry, even now I hear the baying of the hounds." Indeed,   
the baying of many dogs sounded in the distance, and grew steadily  
louder.   
  
Ranma turned to the Lady. "Should we stay or flee? If we flee, we shall  
fly. I am strong enough. I can bear this man and his horse as well. It  
is your choice." It pained him to say this. He felt he had been  
challenged, and wanted to face it straight on, but he was not free to do  
as he would. The Lady's safety was more important than his pride.  
  
"Flee, we must," she replied, "at least until we find a better place to  
make a stand, for they will not stop the hunt, no matter where we take  
him. If we bring this man, then we will come to blows with them. But  
yes, this is a fight you can and will win."  
  
The man stared at them, aghast. "This be no matter for joking, Milord,  
Milady. They mean to kill me, and once they see ye with me, they'll be  
for killing you both as well. Fly now, while ye have the chance.  
There's some strength left in my stead, I can lead them from ye a  
ways."  
  
Ranma looked at him. "That won't be necessary. You stopped and warned  
us, when you had no need, and added thus to your own peril. The Lord Fey  
will not so lightly cast aside his debts." He didn't notice the extreme  
pallor that struck the man's face at his name. Instead, he had turned  
within, and was reaching for his center. He rose easily from the ground,  
not noticing the man's gasp, and the sudden sweat of his fear. Moments  
later, the Lady lifted lightly off ground as well. Ranma's brow  
furrowed, and then the man and his horse rose from the ground as well.  
  
Ranma's eyes opened, and he pulled himself into lotus position, there in  
the air, and seemed to come to rest on something. He spun slowly, facing  
forward, down the road. Then the air was whistling past them, and the  
trees blurred, and the road sped away beneath them. The horse's fearful  
whinny was torn away by the wind, but Ranma's keen hearing caught it,  
and a blue glow appeared before them, like a massive shield, a  
concentrated Juushin Jisei Shiirudo, and the wind stilled, though the  
trees and the road continued to blur past. The sudden cessation of the  
wind's whistle let him hear the muttered oaths and prayers of the man  
and the sound of fear in his voice.  
  
The Lady laughed behind him in her delight. She always loved flying with  
him, but this was a new experience. She could see they were moving at  
great speed, yet they seemed motionless, given the still air. "We will  
look for a place, Lord, and there you will face them. I don't know, they  
may fall back before you, but I suspect the rumored fear of Lord Fey  
will not be as strong as the familiar fear of Lord Ereth. But don't  
worry. If any man on this world is a match for Lord Ereth and his  
huntsman, you are. There!" she pointed suddenly, and Ranma brought them  
to a swift stop where she indicated.   
  
"Set us upon that height. Good, now stand full armored, with your  
sword unsheathed, there on that stone. They will come down that opening,  
and spread out before you. We are beyond their reach, until they have  
dealt with you, and they will not get past you."  
  
Ranma stood solidly, centering himself to the stone, holding his blade  
at ready. The Lady and the man stood upon a rise of stone, thrust  
upward from the stony ground nearly thirty feet into the air, with no  
easy access to the top for any land-bound creature, several meters  
behind him. Before him, a stone wall towered, some thirty feet high,  
split in two by a rocky defile, down which water had once run, carving a  
path, to pool at the bottom of the hill, though it was dry now.  
  
The man turned to the Lady, after staring for a minute with awed eyes at  
the short man that dared to stand before the Huntsman, and face Lord  
Ereth. "Lady," he breathed softly, "Is he truly the Lord Fey? I have  
heard terrible things of him, but never that he had such strength of  
will, and gave such weight to honor."  
  
"He is the Lord Fey now. He cast down the one of whom you have heard,  
defeated him in the very place where the old Lord was most powerful. His  
is a pure heart, and a gentle spirit, but the rage of a tiger lies but  
loosely chained within him."  
  
"He seems so large, so powerful standing there, for one so small. Is he  
a dwarf? I have heard tell of them and their power."  
  
"No, he is no dwarf. He is human, and he is a man, but he has only seven  
years. A child's body, but a man's strength, and a hero's heart."  
  
"Seven? He's seven, and he is going to stand and face the Lord Ereth? My  
God!" He moved as if to leap down, shamed suddenly that he was being  
defended by a mere boy, but the Lady's commanding voice held him still.  
  
"Stay! Do not go to him. You could but hinder my Lord. Do not fear. He  
will stand firm against them, and they will break against him like  
water."   
  
Even as she spoke, the baying began again in the distance, and  
steadily rose. As she finished speaking, hounds began to pour down the  
small opening, filling the wide floor before him like flowing water.  
They snapped and snarled at him, but as they approached, he began  
to glow, and it seemed that blue fire flared from the ground at his  
feet, and licked about him. The hounds growled, but fell back, and sat  
in silent menace, as their masters approached.   
  
The Huntsman appeared then, garbed in a woodsman's outfit, though the  
cloth was black. In his hand he held a longbow, and the Lady was quick  
to raise her hand, and whisper a phrase. The man beside her watched with  
awe, as a shimmer rolled through the air around them. It seemed like  
they were inside a soap bubble, as slow rings of iridescence rippled  
through the air about them.  
  
The Huntsman growled at the sight of the boy holding his dogs at bay,  
and notched an arrow to his bow. His arm pulled smoothly back, bending  
the mighty bow, and then releasing the arrow to fly a perfect course to  
pierce the fool boy's eye and strike his brain. His mouth dropped in  
shock, as the boy casually reached up and caught the arrow.   
  
Then the boy's blade became a bow, and he notched the arrow, and it  
burst into blue flame. The boy pulled back, and released, and the  
flickering blue missile sailed past him, and impacted the rock wall,  
causing it to explode outward, sending shards of rock down amongst the  
dogs, sowing confusion and pain, though it caused no real injuries.  
  
"I didn't need to miss." The boy's words were quietly spoken, but they  
seemed to echo from all around, and there was steel in them.  
  
"Oh, bravo. Well done, brave fool." A tall man in black armor clapped  
his hands as he walked down the narrow defile behind his Huntsman. "My,  
my, what have you done to yourself, Lord Fey? You were tall and strong  
when I knew you last. Why do you take now the form of a boy to stand in  
my way?"  
  
"I am not the Lord Fey you knew," the boy replied quietly. Again, though  
the dogs barked and growled, his voice came easily to the ears of all.  
"I killed him, and took all that was his, and now I have taken your  
prey. The Hunt is over, Lord Ereth. Take your dogs and go."  
  
"Oh, no, Lord Fey. The Hunt is just begun! Now I shall have three harts  
to pierce." He laughed at his own wry joke, and his laughter was hollow  
and dark. "Go on, boy. Run, run before me, that I may hunt you down."  
Again his hollow laugh echoed about them.  
  
"How do you propose to make me run, Lord Ereth? You cannot move me."  
Ranma replied calmly. While talking, Ranma had been reaching out with  
his senses. He could see now the dark bonds that tied the hounds to the  
Huntsman, and bound the Huntsman to his Lord. He could see them, and as  
he looked, he could see the weaknesses. The Lady had told him that no  
other magic user she had ever met had had his ability to so easily  
dispel magic, when he could see it. He was powerless against some magic,  
like that last invisible attack she had sent against him on his first  
day of training. But when he could see the magic's weave in its  
completeness, his touch could not be denied.   
  
He held himself in readiness. He did not want to force Lord Ereth's  
hand. He wanted the Lord to commit himself, before he acted, but he  
truly wanted Lord Ereth to do this. He hated seeing anything held in  
bondage, and he wanted to free them. But he admitted to himself that if  
Lord Ereth backed down, and walked away, he would let him go, and would  
not free the hounds.  
  
He was right, in his confidence. Lord Ereth gestured to his Huntsman,  
and the dogs surged forward, their fear of the fire overwhelmed by their  
fear of the pain they would feel if they disobeyed. Ranma smiled, as he  
reached out and tapped lightly, quickly, again, and again, and again.  
Lord Ereth stared in shocked fury, as one after another his dogs stopped  
fearing the Huntsman's call, and gave in to their exhaustion. They had  
been forced to run well beyond their limits to catch up after Ranma's  
swift flight, and once released, they fell quick victim to their torpor.  
Finally, he released the Huntsman, who immediately turned and strung his  
bow, loosing an arrow at his Lord.   
  
Ranma was surprised at this reaction, but quick to respond, he tapped  
it with his ki, and the arrow fell to dust before it reached the Lord  
Ereth. Then he spoke again. "Huntsman, stop. I did not free you for you  
to waste yourself in revenge. Get hence, before the dogs begin to  
awaken, and remember your treatment of them, as you so clearly remember  
the Lord Ereth's treatment of you. And you, Lord Ereth. You made the  
wrong choice. Will you make the wrong choice again? Else do as I asked  
in the beginning, and get thee gone from here." The Huntsman turned and  
fled, not going near the Lord Ereth or the boy.  
  
Lord Ereth snarled in fury, and ripping his sword from its sheath, leapt  
at Ranma. Ranma's bow again became a sword, and it flared suddenly,  
golden flames licking the blade. He met the Lord's headlong charge, and  
turned it aside with the slightest movement. The hunted man, standing  
beside the Lady, stared in wonder, as the black-armored Lord lunged  
again and again at the boy, who stood wreathed in flames, and turned  
aside each attack without even seeming to try.   
  
Ranma was feeling distinctly grateful that this Lord had clearly allowed  
his own skills to lapse, by using others to soften up his prey before  
killing them. He was not even as good as Roga and Kyris had been. His  
blade, however, was magical, and Ranma worked hard to ensure that it  
never came in contact with him, concerned about what it might do.  
  
Recognizing the manner in which the Lord was blindly attacking, Ranma  
fueled the Lord's errant rage, taunting and insulting him, practicing  
the long unused skills he had learned from his father. He knew that in  
doing so he would probably have made an enemy for life, but he felt that  
it was not worth trying to make this cold, hard man a friend. After all,  
the man felt it necessary to magically enslave even his own servants...  
not a promising sign.  
  
As Ranma taunted him, the Lord Ereth pushed himself beyond his limits in  
his fury, and quite suddenly, his body just stopped, and he collapsed  
into sleep, lying spent upon the stony ground.  
  
Arkus cried aloud in fury. Once again his hopes had failed him. He had  
not dared touch Ereth's mind, for he would know it, being used to mental  
control of his own slaves, but he had not needed to. Ereth had behaved  
just as Arkus would have wanted him to, attacking all out. But the boy  
had just stood there!   
  
Arkus was not a martial artist, and didn't really notice the boy's  
movements, minimal as they were. To him, it was as if Fey simply stood,  
and yet nothing the Lord Ereth did could touch him. Was it the fire that  
somehow forced the blade aside? Arkus had never seen such fire, and  
definitely never seen the Dragon Fang glowing with golden flames before.  
He was furious, but impotent in his rage, powerless to take more direct  
action for fear of inviting retribution from his Lady.  
  
Ranma turned to look at the Lady. "What shall I do with the dogs? And  
the Lord?" The flames died about him as he sheathed his sword, and he rose  
lightly through the air. The Lady dropped her magical shield as he  
approached.   
  
She smiled at him. "What do you think you should do?" She asked, eyes  
twinkling, then warned, "Considering how dogs operate, if you leave them  
here, they will likely kill kim, and form a pack, operating similarly to  
a pack of wolves."  
  
He sighed. Another test. Always it was another test. She was nearly as  
bad as his father, for whom everything must be an exercise in training.  
He considered. "I could place upon them a compulsion to seek their  
birthplace. If I read the situation aright, these are not dogs the Lord  
Ereth bred, for if they were, he would not have needed those magical  
chains upon them. I think he stole them. If I did that, then I could  
safely leave him here. He will recover consciousness quite shortly...  
under half an hour, I'd say."  
  
"That will do nicely. You have made me proud again, my Lord." She smiled  
at him, then watched in silence as he went about his work. Then they  
watched together, waiting patiently, until the first few dogs awoke, and  
began to leave. When they saw that each took a different but definite  
direction, they decided that all was well, and he wafted them gently to  
the road.  
  
He bowed to the man, who stood beside his horse. "I thank you again,  
good sir. You stopped and offered aid to me and my companion, though you  
did not know us, and though it put you at great risk. I would reward  
you, if I could. Is there anything you would ask of me?"  
  
The man looked at him, finally able to really see the boy, now that he  
had banished his armor, and again wore his simple black silks. He knelt  
before the boy, unsheathed his sword, and held it before him, and bowed  
his head. "Only that you accept my sword in your service, Lord. I have  
nothing now. Those I loved are dead, and I cannot return to my home. I  
am nameless, and have nothing but my life, and were it not for you, I  
would not have that. I offer my life to you now. Will you accept it?"  
He looked up slowly and saw the boy's eyes swimming with an unnameable  
emotion.   
  
Ranma looked up at the Lady, and she nodded at him. He remembered her  
description, one night in the study, of what it meant in this land, to  
be without a name, without fealty. To be Nameless in this world was far  
worse a fate than to be ronin in Japan. Though it sounded as if the man  
were offering him something, he knew that in reality, he was asking to  
receive something worth much more to him. Ranma sighed. It should not be  
so, that a man's name be worth more than a man's life. But he could not  
change the whole world, only his small piece of it.   
  
"Give me your name, sirrah, and I shall give you mine." Ranma said  
quietly.   
  
"I am called Beorn, Lord."   
  
Ranma took his sword, and touched him lightly on each shoulder with it.  
"Then rise, Beorn of Fey, and take up your sword in service of the Lord  
of Fey." He gave the sword back to Beorn, who rose slowly, tears of  
gratitude glistening in his light brown eyes. "But now what am I to do  
with you? I shall have to find a place for you, when we return. But I  
cannot send you back without me... They won't know what to do with you.  
Oh well, I guess you shall have to accompany us to see the dragon. What  
do you think, Lady?"  
  
"Indeed, he should accompany us." She smiled at Ranma, and he knew he  
had done well. Again, he felt the unfamiliar delight of having won a  
battle he had not been aware of fighting.   
  
"T-to see a d-dragon, Milord?" Beorn's face turned pale again, but Ranma  
was looking at the Lady, and didn't notice.   
  
"Yes. We are going to visit the Lady's sister, to seek her aid with a  
problem I have."   
  
"Oh." was Beorn's response. I think I just swore fealty to the wrong  
guy. He wants to go _visit_ a dragon? He saved me from Lord Ereth... now  
who's going to save me from him?  
  
  
  
  



	12. Loyalty

Loyalty  
  
  
After about three more hours of traveling, they stopped to rest and eat  
their midday meal. Beorn was about to pull some travel jerky from his  
pack, when he noticed that Lord Fey had already built a fire and placed  
a small metal platform above it. Working with silent grace, he pulled a  
mat from nowhere, and lay it before the fire, then laid out on it, in  
turn, a small pheasant, a smaller quail, a pigeon, a variety of spices.  
Beorn turned back and recinched his saddlebags. Apparently his jerky  
would not be needed.   
  
With blurred motions, Fey had the birds plucked, gutted, and deboned,  
before Beorn turned back around. To Beorn it seemed like magic... in  
nearly the blink of an eye, the birds were suddenly bare of feathers. He  
watched now, as Fey diced the spices with incredible deftness, and  
rubbed them into the birds, a slightly different mixture in each.   
  
In mere moments, each bird was stuffed with the next, and the last  
stuffed with a crumbling mix of bread cubes and spices. He placed a pan  
on the stove, and filled it with water, already boiling, that seemed to  
pour directly from his wrist. He set the birds in the water, then put  
the spices away.   
  
Fey then pulled out a number of vegetables and cleaned and sliced  
them. This time, Beorn was watching, as he saw a mound of vegetables  
become, with a sudden blur of hands, a number of perfectly sliced  
and separated piles of food, that in moments were in another bowl, being  
tossed lightly with leaves of lettuce and cabbage, and coated with a  
golden oil full of spices.   
  
Less than ten minutes after he began, Fey cleared the fire away, and  
the three sat around the mat, eating perfectly cooked and seasoned bird  
flesh, that somehow managed to taste well-roasted, in spite of having  
been boiled before their eyes for less than ten minutes, and a succulent  
salad, crispy and fresh, and richly flavored.   
  
To say that Beorn was astounded, amazed, and astonished, is to do grave  
injustice to his true feelings. Here, on a dusty road far from home, in  
the middle of nowhere, he had just eaten his fill of the best meal he  
had ever had in his life, cooked for him by the Lord to whom he had  
sworn fealty. His Lord had served the food, even to him, showing not the  
slightest concern that Beorn was supposed to be his servant, and not  
the other way around.   
  
Shocking as it was that a noble Lord knew how to cook, and that he would  
choose to do so, even with a woman present, but he cooked better than  
anyone Beorn had ever known. Was there anything his Lord could not do?  
Beorn resigned himself to his fate. If he had to die at the hands of a  
dragon in the service of his Lord, at least he would die happy and  
well-fed. His Lord had even managed to pull a feed-sack of good oats  
from somewhere to feed his horse while they ate.  
  
---  
  
That night, Beorn again watched as Fey made a savory repast. He was no  
less astounded at this, then he had been at the previous meal. He had  
just about convinced himself that in some way it was his Lord's way of  
cementing his hold on his new servant. He had thought he understood it,  
and though it seemed distasteful, he could not really object. It had in  
fact worked at first, had made him look on the Lord Fey with new eyes,  
to really desire to serve him, instead of merely feeling thankful that  
he would not have to be Nameless.   
  
He really had felt, in spite of his Lord's demonstration of power, that  
his own selfless actions had earned the acceptance of his service.  
Almost, almost his Lord's actions at the midday meal had made him feel  
that it might be a true honor, that he might have been granted more than  
he deserved. But his past experiences had shielded him somewhat, and  
made him look at what he was feeling, and consider the effect it would  
have on him. When he realized the depth of devotion he had almost  
reached, he had realized that that must have been its purpose... to  
induce in him that devotion to his Lord. He didn't realize that much of  
this was Arkus's hand, as they were walking, and the Lady's attention  
was distracted. When they stopped, Arkus had withdrawn, leaving the  
seeds he had planted to bear fruit.  
  
Now, as Beorn watched his Lord again, this time with an eye for his face  
instead of his hands, he realized two things. First, that his Lord truly  
did enjoy making a well-cooked and delicious meal, but that he hated  
doing it for some reason Beorn could not discern. Second, that the   
reason his Lord did this, in spite of the way it made him feel, was his  
absolute devotion to the Lady, and had nothing whatsoever to do with  
Beorn. Beorn had considerable experience judging the motivations of  
those around him, and he could also see, finally, that the reason that  
Lord Fey disliked it, was precisely and solely because he enjoyed it. He  
enjoyed it, and for some reason felt he should not, and it was his  
disappointment in his own feelings of enjoyment that marred his features  
as he worked.   
  
When he served the meal, Beorn was surprised to note that the complete  
and total unconcern about serving his own servant was not feigned. His  
Lord truly did not look on him, or his Lady, as servants, but as equals.  
For some reason, this frightened Beorn. It shook his world-view to the  
very core.  
  
He was less surprised when Fey began to play his flute for the Lady.  
Beorn was a little bit startled when Fey pulled his sword from its  
sheath suddenly, but settled down when it became a golden flute. Nobles  
were often taught one of the arts as children. He was impressed with his  
Lord's skill with the instrument, and at the ease with which his Lord  
could evoke emotions with his music, but this again was within the  
realms of his expectations, if not the realm of his experience.   
  
When he watched his Lord begin his kata, he grew interested. This was  
nothing like the tiny motions by which he had exhausted and defeated the  
attacks of Lord Ereth. This was real fighting skill, and he grew  
steadily more impressed as Fey increased his speed. He had not yet  
grown fast enough to break the sound barrier, but he moved with such  
speed that he became a blur at times. Beorn wondered if this was an Art  
his Lord would be willing to share. Beorn would love to learn it.  
  
  
  
  



	13. Journey's End

Journey's End  
  
  
They rose with the dawn, and ate a simple meal of cooked grains,  
supplemented by some sweet ripe fruits. Beorn wondered again where his  
Lord could be obtaining such succulent fresh fruits and vegetables from.  
When he asked, he was nonplussed by Fey's simple reply. "The kitchen  
gardens and the orchards, of course." Of course, where else?   
  
That morning, after traveling for two and a half hours, they saw in the  
middle distance the walled towers of a city. Ranma turned to his Lady.  
"Are we headed there?"   
  
"We are, Lord Fey," she replied.  
  
He huffed at her. "Why do you keep calling me that?"   
  
"It is your title."  
  
"Yeah, I know. But I have a name, and you know it."  
  
"Yes, but you have not told it to Beorn. It is not my place to reveal  
your secrets, Lord Fey."  
  
"What's so bloody secret about my name? Alright, fine, if that's what's  
making you behave like this. Beorn, my name's Ranma, and I'd prefer you  
both use it." He huffed again, and continued walking to the city.   
  
Beorn looked a bit non-plussed, but followed in silence. His Lord wanted  
him to use his given name? Oh well. If it was his Lord's will, then so  
he would do. Lord Ranma didn't sound too bad, anyhow. Certainly an  
unusual name. He wondered whether it meant something.  
  
The road became steadily more crowded as they approached the city, and  
passed numerous crossroads. Several times they were forced to step  
quickly to the side to avoid the passage of a noble's carriage. Beorn  
was of a mind to insist on the same rights for his Lord, but the Lady  
touched her hand lightly to his arm, and looked into his eyes. "Ranma  
does not wish the attention, Beorn. He was not born a Lord, and is  
uncomfortable with the role."   
  
Beorn eyed her, then nodded dumbly. Not born a Lord... of course not.  
Nobody was born a Lord... they inherited it upon the death of the old  
Lord. Then he realized, combining her words with a comment his Lord had  
made during the fight with Lord Ereth. She meant he wasn't born a noble.  
Somehow, when he killed Lord Fey, he came into his title. No wonder he  
treated them like equals... but no, that didn't explain his attitude to  
the Lady. He didn't seem in the least in awe of her. If anything, the  
devotion in his eyes when he looked at the Lady was tinged not with awe  
but with sadness, as if she were a beautiful bird, trapped in a golden  
cage.   
  
They passed through the gates without difficulty, and entered a large  
marketplace. The Lady said they should get rooms at an inn before moving  
on, and led them briskly through the marketplace. She paused suddenly,  
when she realized that Ranma had stopped. He was standing at a  
glass-smith's cart, staring at a crystal rose. She went over to him.   
  
The vendor, an old woman, wrinkled but still standing tall, and with  
the appearance of one who was once beautiful, spoke up. "You like the  
rose, child? There is a story about it. Many long years ago, a great  
sorcerer fell in love with a beautiful dragon in human form."   
  
Ranma started, staring at the Lady, who wore a bemused expression. "He  
gave her a rose like this one, as a token of his love. But his rose was  
not just crystal, like this one. It was crystal, but it was alive too,  
and every month, the rose would blossom, and then its petals would fall,  
and finally the bud too would fall, and then a new one would grow until  
it blossomed."   
  
"I know," he said softly, "I've seen it."   
  
"What do you mean, child?," the vendor asked sharply. "There was only  
ever the one crystal rose..." Then she realized what he must mean,  
and the anger left her voice. "Ah, you mean you've seen a rose like  
this one before, and heard the story? I am sorry for telling you what  
you have already heard."  
  
"No, no," Ranma protested, "I've seen the rose you spoke of." His eyes  
held the Lady's. Tears were slowly rolling down her cheeks. "It sits  
alone in a crystal vase in a locked, walled garden in the grounds of my  
castle. Its petals are blood-red, and the water in the pool beneath its  
stand is full of them, hundreds upon thousands of petals. But the Lady  
it was given to never goes to look at it."  
  
The vendor looked peeved. How dare this young sprout mock her story.  
"Don't tell me such stories, boy. The Lord of Fey castle is...," but she  
was interrupted by the soft voice of the Lady.  
  
"Dead. The Lord you speak of is dead, and Lord Fey speaks the truth. I  
have not been to that walled garden since the day he died."  
  
The vendor gasped in awe, and dropped to her knees, bowing her head to  
the ground. "I'm sorry, Lord Fey, Lady. Please forgive me. I meant no  
harm."  
  
"It is alright, please, stand up." Ranma insisted. She stood slowly,  
looking at the Lady with awe and sorrow in equal measure in her eyes.  
Ranma turned back to the Lady. "Perhaps, dear Lady, it is time you had  
another rose to look upon." Ranma gathered his ki, and thinking back,  
picturing the twists and turns of the magic that he had seen in the  
original crystal rose, bound the threads and strands together, trapping  
some of his ki within it, and plucked from the air a white crystal rose  
in full bloom, and bowing, handed it to the Lady. "Take this, my Lady,  
as a token of my word. I _will_ free you from your bondage."   
  
The vendor gasped in awe, and the Lady reached out her delicate hand and  
took the rose, tears still falling silently from her eyes. She reached  
out and held Ranma to her for a long minute. "Thank you, my Lord and my  
love."  
  
Ranma turned to the vendor, and looked at her with stern eyes. She   
shivered under his youthful gaze. "You reawakened my Lady's pain with  
your story." His voice had grown suddenly hard and cold. She quaked  
before him, fearful her life had reached its end.   
  
His young voice became suddenly soft and sweet. "And thus you gave me an  
opportunity to ease it. I thank you."   
  
Again he gathered the magic bonds, but twisted them in a different way,  
and did not trap his ki, though he used it to guide the threads, and he  
plucked from the air a second rose, whose petals alternated between red  
and white.   
  
"Take this, with my blessing. Its petals will not fall. But when a  
couple comes to you, let them both touch it. If the petals turn red,  
then you know they are in love. Pluck the blossom from the stem, and  
sell it to them, and another will grow in its place. And if one alone  
come to you, and ask for the story, tell them all, and then let them  
touch it, and if it turn white, then know that their heart is pure, and  
sell them the blossom."   
  
He bowed to her again, and they turned and left, leaving her with a  
fortune in her hands, gaping after them.  
  
The Lady looked at him, hiding her emotions behind a veil of curiosity.  
"That was a most impressive speech, Ranma. Will the bloom truly do what  
you say?"  
  
"Certainly," he replied. "It was a simple thing to remove the single  
strand that caused the petals to fall. Beyond that, adding a simple  
resonance to touch was easy, I just sort of made it sensitive to ki. I  
guess it would have been harder if I hadn't gained such a mastery of my  
ki when I learned the Tai Chi Chuan."  
  
"Indeed. Your mastery of both ki and magic makes you quite formidable,  
and equally unusual." Her words were complimentary, but calmly and  
baldly stated. Inside, she was struggling to hide her true astonishment.  
Once more he had truly surprised her. It was extremely rare, of course,  
for someone to learn magic as easily as he did. He could often replicate  
her feats after a single observance, something veritably unheard of. She  
had realized that it was his ki abilities that let him so easily dispel  
magic, and had suspected it played a part in his amazing ability to  
duplicate her effects so easily.   
  
Yet she had never imagined that he would so easily be able to not only  
replicate, but extend and innovate upon a magic whose casting he hadn't  
even been able to witness! Many were the wizards and sorcerers who could  
go no further than reproducing effects they were painstakingly taught,  
or learned from aging manuscripts and scrolls. Few indeed were the  
gifted individuals who could truly create new spells. Yet Ranma had  
understood and replicated a spell over a hundred years old simply by  
observing the after-effects of its casting, then immediately, and with  
no real time to plan or study, taken it in a new and unique direction.  
  
Further, she knew that at the time it was cast, it had been a major  
effort for Lord Fey, taking him several months, and leaving him weak and  
drained. Ranma had cast it for the first time with a wave of his  
fingers, from an at the least several week old memory of the original,  
then done it again, in a different fashion a few moments later, and  
showed no signs of strain. It hadn't looked hard for him at all.   
  
She felt a momentary shiver of fear. Maybe she should insist he give up  
on freeing her? No, she couldn't, and he wouldn't. Yet for him to  
succeed, he would have to be able to see the female principle... She  
felt again that sensation of fear. If Ranma, with his spectacular ease,  
were to see both the warp and woof of the tapestry of existence, would  
anything be beyond him? It was a very good thing they were going to see  
her sister. The thought of someone with that much power, insane, was  
terribly frightening. She also realized the importance of never teaching  
anyone the combination of skills that gave him this frightening power  
over their reality.  
  
---  
  
A week and a half later, they were making their way, much more slowly,  
up the slope of a mountain. At the Lady's insistence, they set up camp  
well before nightfall, and built a large fire. Beorn was worried they  
would attract bandits, until the Lady told them they were getting close  
to her sister. "It is very unwise to surprise a dragon. We must be  
obvious in our approach, so that she has time to study us. If you get to  
close to a dragon, before she has decided you are potentially not a  
threat, she will attack with her full fury, just to be sure." She smiled  
benignly at Beorn, who just cringed. Not even Ranma's excellent cooking  
soothed him this night, knowing that they were exposing themselves to  
attack, precisely so that a dragon would notice them.  
  
Arkus was no longer watching them. They had passed into the domain of an  
elder dragon, and he could not risk catching her notice. He was driven  
to distraction, however, by his curiosity. What could they possibly  
want to go there for? Were they actually going to meet the dragon? Or  
perhaps there was something else in the region, that they were seeking.  
Facing a dragon would be foolhardy, even for the new Lord Fey, and this  
dragon had not been responsible for any recent depredations, that he was  
aware of, nor was it known to be guarding any particular priceless  
artifact.  
  
Arkus was spending many sleepless nights, fretting over their   
incomprehensible behavior. They had taken on that worthless man that had  
been Ereth's prey as a companion, and even he had come to damn near  
worship the boy, in spite of Arkus' coaching. He should have been  
suspicious enough to resist. Was this possibly the form the boy's gift  
had taken? There were no answers, only more questions.  
  
The next day, the small group trekked higher, and again they stopped  
early, and built a large fire. This time, Ranma brought out his golden  
flute, and poured his heart into it, trying to calm himself, and find  
his emotional center, before he was forced to face his own fears.  
Ranma's senses were stretched to their limit, so he was the first to  
notice the stealthy approach. It took his mind only a moment to put  
together the clues, and recognize the panther for what it was. Almost  
the same moment his extended senses registered 'CAT!' they responded,  
'no, dragon'. He could feel his fear curling in his belly, and  
deliberated half-lidded his eyes, focusing his attention on the  
ki-dragon winding around the lithe form.  
  
Beorn yelped when a sudden blue blur sailed over the fire and past him.  
Ranma simply watched the silky panther, with a coat the color of a dusky  
sky, and kept playing. But now he was playing to the cat, a light air  
that seemed to sing of butterflies, and sunshine. The cat growled, low  
and deep, refusing to be influenced, and Ranma returned to a more  
serious air. The panther eyed him for a long minute more, then turned  
and padded to the Lady. The Lady reached out, and took the panther's  
head in her hands.   
  
"This is foolish, my sister. Ranma's fear is not a plaything. It has a  
terrible power." The cat just grinned, and lay its head in her lap. A  
moment later, she was a gorgeous blue haired woman, wearing a tight  
bodysuit, a rippling midnight blue, her head still in her sister's lap,  
staring up at her eyes.  
  
"Its been far too long, my sister. You know I would have come for you,  
and killed that fool Lord, had you only asked."  
  
"I could not ask it, and you know it well, sister my love. And I will be  
wroth with you if you kill him now." She lazily stroked her sister's  
blue hair.   
  
Suddenly the blue haired woman stood, and in a flash, she was seven feet  
tall, and wearing blue armor. She scooped her sister up into her arms,  
and silenced Ranma's cry of dismay with a glare. "You've had her to  
yourself for too long, boy. She'll be close enough, have no fear for   
her. But tonight, she's mine. We have a lot of catching up to do." Ranma  
remained tense and ready, until he saw the Lady's elegant arms rise up  
to drape around her sister's neck, and hold loosely, Then he bowed  
deeply to them, as the blue-armored figure leapt into the air, and away.  
He sat again, and returned to playing his flute.  
  
In a high tower of her hidden castle, Alana's sister lay her gently on a  
bed, and pulled up a padded chair beside her. Alana looked at her. "What  
would you have done, Sylie, if he had succumbed to the fear?"  
  
"I would have killed him."  
  
Alana choked back a sob, "No, Sylie, you mustn't. I love him!"  
  
"I know you do. But I understand the workings of the spell. It can't  
bind to a dragon. As long as he lives, you risk his death, and being  
bound to another. If I were to kill him you would be free of your bonds,  
completely."  
  
"No," Alana sighed softly, "I wouldn't."  
  
"What do you mean?," cried her sister. "I have seen the magic... it has  
not changed. Why wouldn't you be free?" Her sister was visibly upset.  
She had half-planned on failing to free the boy of his fear, and being  
forced to kill him in self-defense... now her plan was in danger.  
  
"I love him, Sylie. I love him with a love that goes far beyond what  
that damned spell made me feel for Fey. I love him, Sylie, as a mother  
loves her son. He makes me so proud. You should have seen him, Sylie,"  
she said, sitting up and taking her sister's hands. "Facing up to Lord  
Roga and beating him by fighting him to exhaustion, then refusing to  
kill him... happily accepting blindness for three months, because I  
asked it of him... Facing Lord Ereth and his Huntsman and hounds, and  
winning without injuring a single one of them. And Sylie, in  
Wintersdark, you remember the old lady that sells the crystal roses?"   
  
"Yeah. I never liked them making money off your love and your pain like  
that... but I've bought a few of them. They helped me remember you," and  
tears were in her eyes now, glistening drops of liquid gold, "remember  
why you left me."  
  
"Well, she told him the story, like she tells everyone. And he tells her  
he's seen it. That's the first time I realized he had found the locked  
garden. It shouldn't have surprised me, I guess. I know he can jump that  
high easily. He knew right away who the story was about. And then,  
Sylie, after he told her he had seen it, and described it, and told her  
I never went and looked at it again, he gave me this!" Alana pulled  
out the white rose.  
  
"My word! Did he create it on the spot?" she asked in wonder.  
  
"He did... from a several week old memory of the end result, he created  
this white rose with a flick of his fingers, Sylie. You remember how  
exhausted Fey was after he made me the red rose, don't you, Sylie? Ranma  
just turned, and did it again. He gave that old lady a ki-sensitive  
rose, whose blossom would never fall on its own, with red and white  
petals, that he says will turn red if touched by two people in love, and  
white if touched by one person pure of heart. He created that spell, a   
ki-sensitive spell, not two moments after casting the original spell the  
first time! And it didn't strain him in the least, Sylie. He mastered  
one of the martial arts from his world, Sylie, in three months, and took  
it beyond what these withered old men could do, men who had spent their  
lives studying it! He took their art, and thought about it, and used it  
to teach himself to fly."  
  
"That little stripling can fly?"  
  
"Indeed, he can. He's been my wings ever since. He mastered the Shining  
Darkness in five days, Sylie. I think that's why he didn't go crazy when  
you barged in on us like that. He must have been focusing on the dragon  
in your aura."  
  
"Alright, enough already. You can stop extolling the virtues of your  
son, now, Alana. I'll help him, and I won't hurt him. But I don't want  
to hear another word about him. I want to talk about you and me, now.  
We've missed far too much of each other's lives, Alana."  
  
"I know, Sylie. I know."  
  
  
  
  



	14. Pride and Fear

Pride and Fear  
  
  
The next day found Beorn, Ranma, Alana, and Sylie standing in what  
appeared to be a large gymnasium, within a castle mostly hidden within  
the granite of the mountain.  
  
"I want you to demonstrate your speed for me, Ranma," the Lady Sylie  
said. "I need to see if you are fast enough to do this the swiftest way,  
or if I shall have to seek slower means."  
  
"Very well, Lady," Ranma replied, and moving to a clear area, he began  
his kata. At first Sylie was shocked at how slow he was moving. Then she  
realized that he was merely starting slow, and was steadily speeding up.  
She allowed the eyes of her human form to relax into dragon eyes. Her  
dragon eyes were very sharp, not only able to perceive small things at  
great distances, but able to perceive the very movements of air itself,  
to see the little eddies and crosscurrents thrown off by Ranma's  
movements.   
  
This was an adaptation that aided the dragon in finding those rising  
columns of hot air that could lift one higher into the air without  
expending great effort, and to avoid those sudden temperature inversions  
that could cause a column of air to move downward with sudden force, so  
dangerous at low altitudes.  
  
As he continued to speed up, she grew steadily more impressed, as she  
could see the air being compressed by each blow, sending shock waves  
rippling from him. When he finally managed to move fast enough to punch  
_through_ one of those pressure formed shock waves, causing a sharp  
crack to echo through the room, she was astounded. He had not yet begun  
to fill his body with ki, to enhance speed and stamina. This was natural  
speed. "He can move faster than air itself," she gasped in quiet awe.  
The Lady Alana just smiled in pride. "Faster!" Sylie said aloud.  
  
Ranma sighed, and focusing within, found his center, and let his ki flow  
out from it to fill his limbs, strengthening them against the strain of  
cracking the air, and increasing their speed. Within moments, the room  
was filled with the sound of rolling thunder from the hundreds of sharp  
cracks as Ranma's movements shattered the very air. He was moving so  
fast, even Sylie's dragon eyes were hard-pressed to track his flying  
fists.   
  
It didn't help that the air around him was becoming steadily more   
distorted. His every movement would send a shockwave of air traveling  
outward, decreasing the air pressure around his body, and increasing  
that of the air just beyond it. As it did so, his body met steadily less  
resistance, and was able to move faster. Soon he found that he could not  
catch his breath, and stopped. The high pressure air around him fell  
suddenly into the low-pressure rarefied air around him, and Ranma found  
himself dead center of a single thunderclap that shook the walls.  
  
Beorn was the only one not deafened, as he had found the rolling  
thunder unbearable early on, and stuffed his fingers in his ears. The  
Lady Alana just rubbed her ears thoughtfully, smiling proudly at Ranma.  
Ranma, for his part, was gasping for breath. Ordinarily, he could have  
gone far longer without even breathing hard. But he had significantly  
reduced the amount of oxygen in the air about him. It had been like  
exercising vigorously on a mountain peak. Sylie for her part was  
shaking, her head ringing, her mouth hanging open in shock. It was  
several minutes before anyone was able to speak.  
  
"Well, I guess you're fast enough, anyway." Sylie said, laughing weakly.  
"Catch your breath, and then we'll begin."  
  
---  
  
Sylie had him sit lotus style, and focus on his emotional center. Then  
she lightly laid a hand on his temple, and reached into his mind. She  
spent some time getting familiar with it, so that she would be able to  
reach him at a distance. She felt around the edges of the jagged wound  
in his mind, the darkness where he fled to escape the cats, and realized  
with startlement, that this darkness was not related to the cat that  
appeared when he fled into it. The cat was elsewhere in his mind...  
playing with a young girl? What on earth was going on in this poor boy's  
mind? Who had done this to him?   
  
Sylie decided not to mention to Alana that the girl was awake in his  
mind. She would want to do something about it immediately, and Sylie  
knew it was too early. He needed to heal first, or he would retreat into  
the darkness to hide from the pain, and might never come out. Even after  
Sylie finished with him, the darkness would be there. It would be a long  
time in healing, if it ever truly did.  
  
Once she was confident of her connection to his mind, she pressed a  
tight suppression on his fear, holding it back. Then she roused him, and  
led him deeper into the castle, to a room where the Lady and Beorn  
waited. And she showed him the large window, and the huge room it looked  
out on. He looked on with interest, displaying no fear, no qualms at the  
sight of the pack of lions. He looked at her with surprise and delight.  
"I'm cured? Already? I don't feel afraid!"  
  
She smiled sadly down at him. "No, child, you are not yet cured. I am  
simply preventing you from feeling your fear. I am going to let you  
fight it, slowly. You are going to go out there, and play with them. Get   
used to the idea that they aren't fast enough to touch you, if you  
don't want them to. Then, when you are at ease with them, I will loosen  
my grip on your fear, just a bit. And then we will see."  
  
"Oh," he said, sighing. "Alright. I should go in there now?"   
  
"Yes, child."  
  
He leapt lightly from the window, landing on the dirt covered floor  
nearly twenty feet below. The dirt was deep. He couldn't see the real  
floor anywhere, and in places the dirt made dunes, five or six feet  
above the level he stood on now. He leapt to the top of one, and looked  
over at the lions, resting on large rocks, panting in the heat. He  
glanced up, and was surprised to see the sun, hanging high overhead in a  
deep blue sky, with no clouds.  
  
Alana looked at Sylie. "Sylie, dear. Why did you have this room ready?  
Have you known we were coming, and why, for so long?"  
  
"No, love. I was trying to see if I could adapt them to a desert  
environment. Out that window, that isn't really in the castle, anymore.  
That's a window to a desert some three hundred miles from here. They  
hunt these lizard things that burrow in the sand. They're one of my more  
successful experiments. It seemed an appropriate method."  
  
"Thank you, Sylie."  
  
Ranma moved slowly towards them, but the lions did not seem inclined to  
attack him. They just looked at him, panting. One of the large males,  
with a heavy dark brown mane, yawned suddenly, mouth gaping open,  
exposing long sharp teeth and a rough tongue, then shutting with a  
sudden snap.  
  
"Play with them, huh?," he muttered to himself. He moved slowly down the  
slope towards them, and approached. As he got closer, he could see that  
behind one of the rocks, several cubs were engaged in a tug of war over  
a dried bone. "Sure. I'll play with the kids, and see how the parent's  
react."   
  
He grinned, and shifted forward suddenly, blurring between the larger  
cats, who snarled in surprise, and he grabbed the bone, placing his hand  
in dangerous proximity to three jaws, teeth flashing as they snarled at  
one another, then snarled at him. He pulled lightly on the bone. One of  
the resting females leapt down, as soon as he appeared by the cubs.   
  
To the lions, he appeared to be a large male baboon. While lion cubs are  
actually in the gravest danger when near an adult male lion, baboons are  
a constant threat to any young animal. Large male baboons are noisy,  
agressive beasts, and will kill and eat almost any young animal, even a  
lion cub, if they can get at it away from its parents. For a baboon to  
attack cubs near adult lions was tantamount to suicide, and not  
something any of the lionesses had ever experienced, but their instincts  
on how to deal with baboons near their young were unequivocal.  
  
She loped towards him, then stopped, and gave a deep, full-bodied roar,  
mouth wide and gaping, hackles raised, ears pointing straight up, tail  
lashing back and forth. Baboons, while agressive, prefer to attack the  
weak or injured, and will generally give way before any animal in its  
prime, other than another large baboon.  
  
This baboon reacted strangely. It seemed not the least put out by her  
roar, and in fact, reached into her jaws to grab a scrap of meat caught  
between her teeth, and toss it to one of the cubs, who caught it  
happily, before being pounced upon by the other two. She growled at it,  
and sniffed. Unfamiliar scent. Looks like a baboon, but acts different.  
She was wary now. Anything that doesn't behave like it should is a  
potential threat, and an unknown. She snorted at it, and growled, then  
turned and nudged the cubs away from the dangerous unknown.  
  
Sylie collapsed with laughter when Ranma grabbed the piece of meat from  
the lion's jaws in mid-roar. "Wow! I didn't expect him to be at his ease  
nearly so swiftly. Alana, are you sure we should remove his fear? If   
he's afraid of nothing, he might be well-nigh unstoppable."  
  
Alana just nodded. Sylie finally managed to suppress her laughter, and  
drag herself back to her feet. She reached out, and eased her hold on  
his fear, just a little bit.   
  
The lioness turned, smelling suddenly the acrid scent of fear on the  
baboon. She roared at it again, and the scent strengthened. Now her  
instincts knew what to do, and she crouched as if to pounce, raised her  
hackles, and gave another roar, trying to look as threatening as she  
could.  
  
Ranma could taste the fear in his mouth, but it was a manageable fear.  
He grew angry, angry at himself for being weak enough to be afraid,  
angry at the lioness for trying to make him afraid. And he reached  
out... but not for the darkness. He reached out for the Neko-ken, and  
gathered it to him, and dropping to all fours, he answered her with a  
roar of his own. Even using the Neko-ken, he still felt the fear, but  
his anger was stronger.   
  
The lioness paused, puzzled. The baboon was gone, vanished, and now a  
male lion was challenging the pack. Where had he come from? She hadn't  
smelled his scent before. She tasted the fear in his scent, and knew him  
for a loner, desperate to earn a place in a pack.  
  
The massive male leapt to his feet at Ranma's challenging roar. An  
outsider male was challenging him for dominance. He turned to face the  
beast, and gave an answering roar, a deep full-throated roar that shook  
the sand, a roar that Ranma felt shake his bones.  
  
Ranma was furious now. They were playing on his fear, trying to  
strengthen it, to drive him mad, just like the cats in the pit. They  
weren't going to. Not this time. This time, he would win. He roared  
back, and this time his ki was in his voice, and the roar caused the  
sand to swirl, dust devils forming and spinning away, and the watchers  
in the high room held their ears, and felt their bones shaking within  
them, and the stones quivering and shifting around them.  
  
The big lion leapt from his perch, and loped towards the outsider. He  
stopped, a few meters away, and crouched. Ranma followed his lead. The  
big lion leaped, reaching for the neck, the jugular, to end this  
quickly. He knew that if he was too injured in this bout, one of the  
lesser males in his own pack would challenge him, and kill him.  
  
The smaller challenger twisted away from his attack, moving with  
blinding speed between his claws, past his jaws, to rake sharp claws  
along his belly. So quickly, it was over. The big lion knew he had lost.  
Opened as he was, he would be swiftly set upon by the other males. Ranma  
roared his dominance, and the other males cringed at the strength of it.   
  
Ranma felt sudden shame, as in her shock, Sylie gripped tighter,   
banishing his fear. The big male had not been trying to drive him  
insane. He had been protecting his pack. Ranma padded over to him, and  
licked the long gashes in the huge lion's belly. He didn't know much  
about healing... but he focused his ki, and traced the wounds, and tried  
to urge the severed edges of flesh to come together again. Licking at  
the wound again, he watched with delight as his will overcame the  
wounds, and the flesh knit itself back together. Soon, he was licking  
what looked like old scars. The big lion stumbled to his feet. He was  
confused, and tired, but alive, and he knew he had been beaten. He  
crouched before Ranma, tail slung between his legs, acknowledging  
Ranma's dominance of the pride.  
  
Sylie gasped, and turned to Alana. "Damn, only seven and already the  
boy's got a harem." Alana flushed red. "Seriously, Alana. Have you  
taught him healing magic yet? Of any sort?"  
  
"No, I hadn't gotten around to it. He doesn't need it, you know. Fey's  
clothing includes powerful healing spells, and he heals unnaturally fast  
anyway."  
  
"So he just successfully healed that lion of a life threatening wound,  
without ever using healing magic before? That's... hard to believe, I  
mean... wow."  
  
One by one, the other males, and then the females, came to Ranma, and  
acknowledged the dominance of the small male. The lioness who had pushed  
the cubs away watched him lope to them with sad eyes. As every  
challenger before him had, she knew that the new dominant male would  
kill all the cubs, and might drive off one of the younger males, to  
ensure that his would be the blood that continued.   
  
She was understandably confused when Ranma returned to playing with  
them, trying to steal their bone. Not only should he have killed them,  
but ordinarily, if a cub got between a male and its meal, it would be  
killed out of hand. Yet he just tussled with them, almost as if he were  
a cub himself. If he were a cub, then why challenge for dominance?  
Confusion reined among the adults, as Ranma and the cubs played.   
  
For nearly a month, Ranma lived with the lions, in a constant state of  
Neko-ken. A few times, one of the lionesses attempted to entice him to  
mate, lured by the thought of his strong blood, but he didn't understand  
and didn't respond. When he didn't challenge the big male again, nor  
shove him aside for the first of the hunt, the older lions started  
thinking of him as a cub, a young male. He had earned a place within the  
pack, wherever he chose to take it.  
  
He hunted with them, and as he spent more time in the Neko-ken, it  
changed as well. Gradually, his aura became constantly visible, and by  
the fourth day in it, his arms and legs were no longer reaching the  
ground. He moved about, suspended in his aura, which seemed to have a  
physical presence. Shortly thereafter, the watchers observed him  
dragging a dead lizard back to the rest of the pride. His teeth were  
clamped about the throat... except they weren't really very near it.  
Instead, it seemed to dangle from the glowing blue teeth of his aura.   
  
His aura steadily sharpened, shifting from a blue glow that surrounded  
him, to the well-defined shape of a large male lion, which he seemed  
shrouded within. It reached the point where the aura seemed to have  
real fur. At times the watchers observed the other lion's rubbing  
against his aura, and it seemed to support them as if he were a real  
lion, and at times, the aura's hackles would be raised. When he lay  
on a rock, panting in the heat, and a cub leapt on him, it landed on the  
blue aura, and went no deeper.  
  
Sylie would have worried about the effect of the constant cat-state on  
his young mind, and indeed, Alana was nearly frantic about it at times.  
But Sylie's connection to him allowed her to see that his human mind was  
working the whole time, seeing it as an exercise in strengthening his  
Neko-ken, and analyzing the behavior of the other lions, to better fit  
himself in the pack. When Alana became too concerned, Sylie would stand  
by her, and vocalize his thoughts, letting her hear how human he  
sounded, as he pondered the intricacies of his pack's behavior.  
  
At least once a day, Sylie would come, and release a little of his  
fear, and he would fight it. At those times, he seemed even more like a  
member of the pack, as he became ruled by his emotions. He grew steadily  
stronger, and slowly became able to stand more and more of the fear.  
Just after the first month ended, Sylie finally released her hold on his  
fear completely. She left him feeling the full effects of the fear for  
the next whole day, and when by the end of it, he was still responding  
playfully to the cubs, she decided it was done. His fear was still  
there, he still felt it, but it no longer held any power over him.  
  
She called out to him, then, and he loped across the sands towards the  
high wall, and when he reached it, he banished the Neko-ken easily, and  
leapt the twenty feet to land lightly on the balls of his feet on the  
stone windowsill. He jumped lightly down, and ran to Sylie, hugging her  
tightly, crying tears of joy as he sobbed his thanks. She smiled down at  
him, finally beginning to understand what Alana saw in the boy.  
  
She flew them back, in full dragon form, the three riding lightly on her  
back. Beorn was quite nervous about it, especially since there were no  
ropes, but Ranma had centered himself and them, and showed no fear.  
Beorn nearly fainted when Sylie performed the first barrel roll, but  
when he realized that he hadn't fallen off even when hanging upside  
down, attached by nothing at all, he finally managed to relax, and enjoy  
the ride.   
  
Sylie made a beautiful dragon, long and slender, with glittering dark  
blue scales. She was wingless, and curled through the air as if pushing  
against it the way a snake pushes against the ground. The journey was  
surpassingly swift, reaching Fey Castle in only five hours.   
  
  
  
  



	15. Ancient Perversion

Ancient Perversion  
  
  
The Lady Alana suggested to Ranma that he should begin training others.  
Beorn definitely wanted to learn, and those guards he had traveled with  
had begged him to train them. Ranma informed her that as the heir to the  
Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu, it was inappropriate for him to teach another  
school first, and he could not teach his school until the living founder  
gave him a license to teach.  
  
So the Lady Alana searched his world, and found a cave on a   
mountainside, covered with wards, wherein there lay bound and sleeping  
an ancient perversion. She guided Ranma through the casting of a complex  
spell that wove quietly between the wards, and drew out the sleeping  
master.   
  
Master Happosai awoke suddenly, and found himself in the middle of a  
chalk circle. He noticed the young boy first, and immediately dismissed  
him. Then he noticed the beautiful lady standing behind him. "Hotcha!  
Hot Mama!" He cried, leaping to glomp her, only to bounce off the air  
between them, above the chalk circle. The boy just grinned at him, and  
waggled his fingers in the air. Happosai felt a sudden surge of pain  
whip through him, causing his heart to skip a beat.   
  
"We will have none of that, Master." The young boy's voice was at odds  
with his grinning countenance. His face was light, but his words were  
calm, hard, and cold. "You are offered a choice. You may have three  
months of freedom, in which to train me and license me to teach the  
Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu, and then return to the dank hole from which we  
summoned you, or you can return there right now."  
  
Happosai collapsed in laughter, only to receive another whip of pain.  
Sullenly, he straightened, and stared at the boy. "The Musabetso Kakuto  
Ryuu is the study of a lifetime, boy. How can you expect to master it in  
three months?"  
  
"I have been trained in it since I was five. I was awarded my  
eleventh dan in Tai Chi Chuan after my third month of study in it,  
having never used it before. You have three months. There are additional  
conditions."  
  
"Oh? Huh. There is no eleventh dan in Tai Chi Chuan. What conditions?"  
  
"There is now. I took it beyond the skills of the masters who taught me.  
The conditions are, you will touch no woman while you are here." The  
Master spluttered in protest, but was ignored. "You will be provided  
with recently worn feminine undergarments," and here the boy's face was  
twisted in a look of disgust, "as required to maintain your strength. No  
more questions, Master. You have your choice. Make it."  
  
"Alright, alright. You're insane if you think you can learn it that  
fast, but three months is three months. I'll teach you. But I won't  
license you boy, unless you can beat me!"  
  
The boy waved his hand. "Follow me. I will show you the dojo, and we  
will begin."  
  
"Hey, damnit! I'm the Sensei here, kid!"  
  
---  
  
Arkus found the situation infuriating. The boy finally got away from  
that damned dragon, after far longer than he had expected, and now he  
was closeted with a pervert. Master Happosai's mind was far too dirty  
and perverted for Arkus to stand touching. Indeed, he bathed for five  
hours straight after first reaching out to the man's warped mind. He  
stayed far away after that.  
  
It was well into the second month of the training when Krall learned  
that the boy had managed to return to the castle without any of the  
numerous warriors lining the border of Farallon detecting his passage,  
nor any in Farallon itself being aware of it. He was infuriated by the  
failure of Friss's plan, but avoided a precipitous reaction when even as  
he prepared a vengeful strike against the boy, Friss returned with news  
of the defeat of Lord Ereth at the boy's hands.   
  
The possibilities immediately sang to him, for Ereth was the   
acknowledged Master at binding men to his will. His were the best  
assassins, for they would stop at nothing, and feel no pain. Nothing  
less than utter destruction would prevent them from achieving their  
goal. Doubtless Ereth would seek to eliminate the Lord Fey, and if Krall  
simply waited, he could have the kingdom with no blood on his hands.   
  
Ever since the peace with Farallon had come about, Krall had wondered  
how to get around their Mage Tower, for he had little doubt that they  
would seek to use their black arts to divine the perpetrator of the  
deadly event. If he could achieve his goals while remaining honestly and  
legitimately uninvolved, so much the better.  
  
---  
  
The Master was pleasantly surprised as the weeks, and then months  
passed, and Ranma quickly absorbed everything the Master had to teach.  
Happosai still had no expectation or intention of licensing the little  
snot, but on the morning of their final bout to determine the fate of  
his license, Happosai did make a concession. "Fey, my boy, I hate to  
admit this, but you make me wish I hadn't promised Genma to let his son  
Ranma be my heir. You would have made a great heir. I'll tell you what.  
After I beat your ass here and get away, I'll find the boy, and train  
him for just three months. It ought to be fair, after all, he'll have  
been trained by his father all this time. Then, I'll let you two fight  
to see who becomes my heir."  
  
"Entirely unnecessary, Sensei. Ranma is your heir. I would not stand in  
his way." Ranma was grinning inside. Boy, wouldn't Happosai be fuming  
when he learned the truth. Ranma had found it was great fun to tease the  
old man.  
  
Happosai was incensed that the boy refused his offer. "Enough chatter,  
boy. Hiyah!" Happosai sprang to the attack with a sweeping kick, a feint  
that succeeded, letting him get close enough to use his pipe. He  
performed his signature move, using the pipe, charged with ki, to  
redirect the boy's momentum, expecting to send the boy flying high into  
the air.   
  
Best to end this quickly, and get away before they sent him back to that  
damned cave, he thought. His shock was complete, when the pipe trick  
ended with him embedding himself into the soft earth, completely gone  
from sight. He began to scrabble frantically, desperate for air, when he  
felt a gentle strength cradle him, and lift him back to the surface.  
  
"Haven't you ever been told never to try to move a Tai Chi Master,  
Sensei?" The boy's infernal grin mocked him. Happosai groused to  
himself. He'd thought the boy was pulling his leg about the Tai Chi,  
after all, everyone knew there were only ten dans. But obviously it had  
been a feint within a feint, and the boy really was a master of Tai Chi.  
Happosai had to admire the boy's quick wit.   
  
Happosai sprang back to the attack, then bounced backwards, and leapt  
into the air. "Happou Dai Karin!" he shouted, throwing several bombs at  
Fey. A light breeze blew past, and their fuses went out. "Huh?"  
Happosai sputtered. "That's not supposed to happen."   
  
He pulled out another, bigger bomb, with a lit fuse. He threw it at  
Fey, and it stopped an inch from his hand, hanging there in front of  
him. He had only time to whimper, before it went off, throwing him  
backwards. He was picked up and brushed off by Fey. "Come on, Master.  
Don't give up so easy."  
  
"Who's giving up," snarled Happosai, and leaped back to the attack.  
While he often used his special attacks to win without risk to himself,  
he was a genuinely skilled martial artist. But he had never faced an  
opponent like Fey before. No matter how fast he punched, or kicked, or  
blocked, he couldn't touch Fey, and Fey seemed to tap him at will.   
  
Fey did not do as he had done with Lord Ereth, however. He knew better  
than to solely use the Tai Chi Chuan against Happosai. He used the  
Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu, using Tai Chi only to redirect Happosai's  
attacks, and to leap again before touching the ground, and rebound in  
mid-air. The rebounds were the worst for Happosai, as he simply couldn't  
seem to anticipate them, for there really was no warning, and no way of  
telling at what point in a leap Fey would suddenly redirect his motion  
in absurd defiance of gravity and inertia.   
  
Fey wasn't punching hard, just letting Happosai know that his defenses  
were open. This just infuriated Happosai, and like so many before him, he  
exhausted himself, running on the fumes of his anger, striving to  
connect with Ranma, and failing, while Ranma whipped about him, seeming   
to penetrate his defenses at will.   
  
Ranma, for his part, was absolutely delighted at the speed and reflexes  
he gained by using the Neko-ken. When he had first learned to invoke it,  
the only real advantage he had gained was the ki claws. After living in  
it for a month, it had matured, and he was now gaining all the  
advantages he once gained in his insanity, and more. His speed was far  
greater, and his senses and reflexes were both more finely tuned. He  
wondered what the old Master would say if he realized how he was being  
beaten.   
  
Finally, after going all out for nearly five hours, exhausting his  
impressive chi reserves, Happosai collapsed to the ground, worn out.  
"Alright, damn you. You're unnatural, you know that? But I'll give you  
your damned license."  
  
Ranma grinned at that, but internally, felt very grateful that the old  
master had finally been worn down. Ranma had been forced to almost  
completely release his Juushin Jisei Juuryoku, the gravity field he was  
using to train, to keep up the ki needed for the Neko-ken.  
  
True to his word, Happosai gave Ranma a license to teach, and gave  
him a grandmaster's belt. Still, he warned Ranma, "Fey, my boy, you have  
a license to teach the Happosai Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu, or the Saotome.  
But if you teach some weird mix, with that Tai Chi, and the way you  
fight, don't you go calling it the Happosai, or the Saotome school. Call  
it what it is. The Fey school of Anything Goes, and be proud to teach  
it. Now send me home, and let me rest."  
  
So was founded the Fey Dojo, wherein was taught the Fey Musabetso Kakuto  
Ryuu. It was not long before Ranma's classes were swelled with men, both  
from his own troops of soldiers, and the neighboring five kingdoms, and  
a number of wandering warriors. He focused on those who showed the most  
promise, and set them to teaching the others, so that he could return to  
his own training. Though he had mastered the Musabetso, he still could  
not begin to free his Lady.  
  
  
  
  



	16. Assassin

Assassin  
  
  
Ranma was practicing a kata in the garden, his senses wide open, soaking  
in the health and vitality about him, when he felt a sudden darkness, a  
presence encroaching on the edge of his range, and heading with  
disturbing directness towards his position.  
  
He released the kata, and gathered the Juushin Jisei, ready to either  
change his position instantaneously, catch and hold any thrown  
projectiles, or immobilize an opponent. Thus prepared, he extended his  
senses, ignoring the noise the approaching being made, focusing on the  
sixth and seventh senses, to give him a better idea of what he faced.   
  
As the being approached, Ranma identified it as a human male, under the  
influence of spells that Ranma easily identified as Lord Ereth's style,  
though he could not be absolutely certain of the caster. He was wielding  
a sword with little skill, holding it as if it were a club with which he  
intended to beat something.   
  
Ranma allowed him to approach within visual range. When the man, upon  
seeing him, began a rushing charge, brandishing the sword, Ranma  
summoned the Dragon Fang and Dragon Armor, delighted at the opportunity  
to practice. He released the seventh sense, and the Juushin Jisei,  
intending to learn what he could.  
  
Meeting the man's charge, he was staggered by the man's adrenaline and  
drug enhanced strength, and embraced the Neko-ken to give him enough  
strength to throw off the attacker, and break the dead-lock of their  
swords. He released the Neko-ken immediately, not wanting to be so far  
out of his opponents league, and instead focused ki into his limbs to  
enhance his own strength.  
  
He motioned for the man to attack again. "Come on, let's see what you've  
got."  
  
He quickly grew frustrated, as the darkly dressed black-haired man was  
attacking without subtlety or finesse. Deciding that it was not  
necessary to coddle this attacker's self-esteem, Ranma turned the Dragon  
Fang into a bokuto. Piercing easily through the defenses, a bit of ki  
focused into the tip exploded outward as the bokuto contacted the man's  
chest, sending him hurtling backwards some thirty feet, to crash into  
the ground.  
  
Ranma grimaced in sympathy, then sighed when the man got back to his  
feet and charged again. "Oh, come on, can't you at least fight with some  
skill?"  
  
Ranma slapped the sword with the Dragon Fang, setting it to ringing, to  
loosen the man's grip, then executed a simple, and easily avoided,  
disarm. The man didn't even seem to notice the move, much less defend  
against it, and so lost his weapon. He growled, and punched out at  
Ranma, who clipped him on the skull with the bokuto.   
  
"What's wrong with you?" He demanded. "How stupid can you be, attacking  
me without a weapon?"  
  
The man said nothing, but launched a kick. Ranma almost avoided it, but  
at the last moment, chose to take it, focusing ki at the point of  
impact, to demonstrate the futility of fighting him in that manner. The  
kick impacted with no visible effect. When the man simply punched again,  
Ranma sighed.   
  
"Alright, fine, we'll fight without weapons then." He dismissed the  
Dragon Armor and the Dragon Fang, and caught the next punch, spinning  
the attacker past him, and kneeing him in the gut as he passed by.   
  
He slammed an elbow into the man's back as a follow-up, driving him into  
the ground. The man rolled over, stood, and attacked again, with a high  
kick, uttering a low growl. Ranma punched at the leg, but used more  
strength than was needed, misjudging by the way the man seemed  
unaffected by the bokuto strikes, and the man's leg snapped.   
  
"Ah, damn, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that," apologized Ranma, then  
he gaped, as the man's leg visibly straightened with a faint crackling  
sound, and the man put his weight on it to send a kick from the other  
leg hard into Ranma's side.  
  
Ranma was so surprised by the man's failure to react to his leg being  
broken, that he did not get up a defense in time, and was sent  
sprawling. He leapt back to his feet, meeting the incoming charge, and  
flipped the man over his back, spinning to face him, and catching his  
assailant with a hard kick to the back as he stood again.   
  
Ranma glanced about, noting that several guards had approached, but per  
his orders, given some months back, were not interfering in the fight in  
progress.   
  
Ranma eyed the man's leg, noting that it showed no signs of being broken  
now. Wanting to verify this peculiar behavior, Ranma steeled himself  
against his own objections, and with a sharp kick, snapped the man's leg  
again. Since he did it this time while the other leg was in the air, the  
man collapsed to the ground.   
  
Ranma watched in sick fascination, as the bent leg straightened, and  
crackled, then the man stood again.  
  
"Magic, got to be magic," Ranma said, looking for any reaction on the  
face of the man. Seeing none, he blocked the next kick, and reached out  
with his ki. He continued to block the man's attacks almost absently, as  
he considered the weave of magic about the man, and then tapped the weak  
points, released the magic bonds.   
  
He noted that more effort had been put into strengthening the magic  
against dispelling, but it was of a type he had seen before, designed  
long ago, a pattern that strengthened a spell against traditional  
dispelling magics. Unfortunately for the caster, it did little to hinder  
Ranma's unique method of disrupting the threads of magic.   
  
The man shook his head lightly, then grinned an evil grin. "Die, Fey!"  
He leapt forward, and Ranma smiled. His opponent was at least attacking  
a little less blindly now. Then he sighed, as he assessed his  
assailant's skill level, and noted that he was still no threat.   
  
Ranma was considerably surprised, when he placed a sharp blow to the  
man's shoulder, striking hard, spinning the man, and the man showed no  
signs of pain. There was no more magic... so why wasn't he feeling the  
pain.   
  
"I will defeat you, Fey, and my reward awaits in paradise," he hissed,  
laughing as he attacked again.  
  
Ranma grimaced at him, striking his arms, sending the punches wide and  
opening him up for a hard palm strike to the chest, that sent him nearly  
ten feet back. "Isn't it obvious yet that you can't defeat me. I would  
think that you would have noticed that you are consistently being  
beaten?"  
  
"Hah! I don't even feel your punches, you cannot defeat me!" The man  
laughed in triumph, which seemed definitely premature to Ranma, who hit  
the man's skull with a hard spin-kick, sending him flying to the side.  
  
"There, did ya feel that?"   
  
Ranma was a bit perturbed when the man denied it, and attacked again.  
  
Getting tired of the apparent futility of the fight, Ranma  
considered breaking a few limbs, now that the magic was gone, and  
asking if he felt that... but he wasn't really that cruel. Instead,   
he focused the Juushin Jisei again, and gripped the man, lifting him  
from the ground, and immobilizing his limbs.   
  
Reaching out with his sixth sense, Ranma focused on the man, trying to  
see why he felt no pain. It took a while, but finally Ranma was able to  
focus his senses in such a way that he was able to feel the presence of  
foreign contaminants, toxins in the man's system.   
  
Ranma sighed, and drew up the weaves of magic to make the man's  
paralysis permanent, until the weaves should be released, and turned him  
over to the guards.   
  
"Take him to a doctor," he ordered, "find out what drugs have been used  
on him, and see what you can find out from him once they're purged."  
  
As they left, Ranma returned to his kata.  
  
---  
  
When Krall learned of the Lord Fey's new Dojo, and the training that he  
was offering not only to his own troops, but to outsiders from the Five  
Kingdoms, Krall perceived it as an excellent chance to infiltrate some  
spies and assassins into the castle.  
  
He was disturbed when his men, secreted amongst crowds of other  
potentials, were uniformly turned away. As soon as he saw the first  
reports indicating that every single plant, not just most of them, had  
been turned away, he called off the plans.   
  
There were only two possibilities he could see that would explain this.  
One, somehow the boy had strong enough magic to detect the intentions of  
the men, and was only training those who were properly loyal to their  
leaders. The second, more likely, and far more frightening possibility,  
was that the Lord Fey, or more likely, the Lady Alana, had spies amongst  
his own ranks, that had leaked the identities of his men.  
  
The purge that followed took Krall's forces several years to recover  
from, for it was led by Friss, and he had, unbeknownst to Krall, his  
own ulterior motives, and pressed his suspicions harshly, using the  
purge as a tool to eviscerate Krall's forces.  
  
  
  
  



	17. The Mage Tower

The Mage Tower  
  
  
When during a battle against a team of Krall's raiding bandits one of  
the Court of Farallon's mages fell defending a town several months after  
Ranma entered his eighth year, he decided, at his Lady's urging, to take  
the opportunity to join the throng of young wizards eager to achieve a  
position at court. He conceded to her desire, reasoning with himself  
that by putting himself in a position to observe so many other wizards,  
he would expand his own skill, and get closer to his goal of freeing his  
Lady.  
  
He had spent enough time concentrating on his martial arts. It was time  
to give magic a clear focus, and improve in it as quickly as he could.  
He had by this time trained several of the best students, Beorn among  
them, to mastery of the first dan of his school, and he left them to  
further instruct his troops.  
  
Arkus had spent the intervening time busy with a project for his Lady.  
He was quite annoyed on his return, to see them preparing for a journey.  
That was as nothing compared to his fury, though, when he realized their  
goal. He was not aware of the contest, and could only assume that the  
boy was going to take classes at the Mage Towers. There was no way he  
would be able to scry and ply his influence near there. It was far too  
dangerous. He would be forced to ignore the boy until such time as he  
finally left the Towers.  
  
The Lady traveled with Ranma, and again they received an escort at the  
border. This time, many of the men were ones who had trained under him,  
and the looks he received were of respect and honor, instead of fear  
and hatred.  
  
They did not go now to the capitol city, but took a new route, to a city  
that grew out from the banks of a large river, and swallowed a nearby  
hill. On the brow of the hill stood a large wall, that encircled it.  
Within the walls was built a mighty compound of stone, with rising  
spires, and lowering halls that reached deep into the hill.   
  
They were offered accommodations in the noble's quarters, which the Lady  
accepted, but Ranma declined. He chose instead to live in the barracks,  
with the other potential magelings.   
  
As he saw the first of the mages, Ranma realized he could detect their  
magical power, much the way he could see a martial artist's aura, though  
they were not the same thing. He also realized that he could not see the  
aura of the Lady Alana. Deciding she must be suppressing her aura, he  
focused on doing the same.  
  
A young lady, demurely dressed, led him with down-turned eyes down long  
halls of stone, to an open courtyard, and across it. Within the  
courtyard were numerous young men, both common and noble, practicing  
small magics, trying to impress one another with their skill.   
  
He realized immediately that he was beyond all their skill, and worried  
that when tested, they would immediately release the others, leaving him  
with no-one to watch. But he held his silence, as they passed through  
the young men, and a path parted before them, as if the young lady held  
a power, hidden in shadow, that they could sense, though he could not.  
She led him down a quick flight of steps, and into the barracks, a long  
row of small rooms, and showed him to the one that would be his and one   
other boy's. He dropped his pack by the bed on the right, and turned to  
see her leaving.  
  
"Lady, wait a moment, I would ask you something," he requested. She  
turned towards him, and raised her eyes to his chest. She was a second  
year student, well beyond the strength of most of these young whelps,  
and as a student of the Mage Tower, she need not respect the  
distinctions of nobility and commoner. But being second year, she was  
strong enough to sense power, and she could feel the unimaginable power  
that rippled around the young man, though he was clearly suppressing  
it. She did not realize that she was detecting his ki aura as well as  
his aura of magic, leading her to an inflated view of his power. Though  
she had not been told who he was, she had recognized the Lady from  
descriptions they were given in history classes. She was the Lady  
Alana, and by extension, given the stories of the defeat of Lord Roga,  
this boy must be the Lord Fey.   
  
She feared what he would ask of her. As a Lord, he was beyond the  
strictures of nobility, and though he was not in his own land, he was  
recognized as a Lord here as well, by order of the King. He could  
give her nigh any order, and she would have to obey him... even... even  
if he ordered her to share his bed. She almost hoped he would. He was  
handsome, and strong, and powerful. Though it would not be a bad life,  
being the consort to such a one, she dreaded being his plaything, to be  
cast aside when no longer wanted. So she had sought to avoid catching  
his notice... and failed.  
  
Ranma simply hoped that from this young lady he might receive an  
answer to the question that had perturbed him since his very  
first lesson in magic. "Lady," he asked, "how is it that you hide your  
power?"  
  
She stared down in confusion, not yet daring to meet his eyes, nor look  
upon his face. "Hide my power? I don't understand. Do you mean... you  
cannot see it?" When he nodded, she was even more confused. "But, if you  
cannot see it, then how did you know it was there?" In her confusion,  
she finally raised her head to look at his face, and looking down at  
him, his eyes captured her, held her in their crystal blue depths.   
  
"I could see that the others, there in the courtyard, could sense it.  
They moved out of your way, without you saying or doing anything, yet  
you were not even looking at them." He wore a puzzled frown, she saw.  
"Yet I feel no power in you. How are you hiding it from me?"  
  
"But, but I'm not," she gasped, suddenly terrified. So much power, in  
one so young. If he didn't believe her, who knew what he might do? She  
hadn't realized, until she saw his face, that he was not merely short  
for his age. He was truly young. Most of the men in the courtyard had  
been thirteen to seventeen, with a few twelve year old prodigies. But  
even the immense power this boy had could not disguise that he was no  
more than eight, nine at the most. Such youth was generally accompanied  
by a lack of emotional control, and bad reactions to being thwarted,  
particularly in the children of power, those whose positions meant they  
had never been denied anything they desired.   
  
"Then do you know why I cannot see your power?" he asked, trying to find  
a different way of coming at the question, that would give him the  
answer he sought. She shook her head mutely, trying desperately to  
stifle her fear. She wanted to shake, to run and cry, to flee from the  
terrible power standing quietly before her. She had a little brother,  
seven and a half, and his temper tantrums were terrible. Picturing this  
boy, with his unimaginable power, throwing a tantrum because she  
couldn't tell him what he wanted to hear, left her feeling weak with  
terror.  
  
"Oh well," he sighed. "I am sorry to have kept you, Lady. Please forgive  
me." She nodded, and backed away. When he made no move to stop her, she  
turned and fled. Her master found her in her study, sobbing, huddled in  
the corner. The strong woman, still beautiful in her middle age, her  
youthful looks assisted by her spells, bent to gather her protege in her  
arms. It had been her choice to have her student meet the young Lord of  
Fey. She had not expected this result, and felt a sudden surge of anger,  
that was as swiftly swallowed by her fear.   
  
"What did he do to you, my child?" She asked, rocking the girl in her  
arms. She had cared for the girl for years, and looked on her as a  
daughter, but even to defend her, there was little she could do to one  
such as the Lord Fey.  
  
"Nothing," the girl gasped out between sobs. "It's not him, its me. I  
looked in his eyes, Liliana, and he's so young, but he's far stronger  
than anyone I've ever met, and he's a Lord, and he could have ordered me  
to do anything, and I would have to obey, and I was so scared,  
because I couldn't answer his questions, and I kept picturing him  
throwing a tantrum like my little brother, and, and..."  
  
"Shhh... its alright. And what did he do?"  
  
"Nothing... nothing... he just asked me how I hid my power from him. And  
I didn't know what he meant, and I was afraid he would be angry, because  
I was hiding something from him, but I didn't know what I was doing, or  
how to stop, and I was so scared... but he just apologized. He said he  
was sorry. I ran away. He's got so much power, Liliana. How can anyone  
so young be that strong?"  
  
"How did you know he was a Lord, Ariana? I know no-one told you." That  
had been quite deliberate on her part. She had not wanted a potential  
friendship spoiled from the start by issues of rank.  
  
"I recognized the Lady from the history classes. She's the Lady Alana,  
the dragon that the old Lord Fey bound. And he fits the description of  
the new Lord, the one that defeated Lord Roga."  
  
"You didn't call him Lord, did you?," Liliana asked sharply.   
  
"No, I didn't. I got the feeling he didn't want it to be known. He was  
offered a place with the noble-born, with his Lady, but he refused it.  
Why else would he want to sleep in the barracks? He is pretending to be  
one of them. I don't know how he will explain his age, though. Surely  
they will try to bully him. He's the youngest there, by far. I hope he  
doesn't hurt them too badly." Held in the arms of one she had come to  
look on as a mother, Ariana had finally begun to calm down, to recognize  
that though her fear was well-founded, it had not come to pass, and the  
boy she had feared had in fact shown considerable emotional control.  
  
Liliana smiled at the child in her arms. "I see your wits have not been  
addled by your fear. That was well thought out, child. Now calm   
yourself. You need not fear this boy. I have spoken to the Lady Alana.  
He may be young, but he has an iron will. He will not lose control."  
  
---  
  
Ranma sighed as the girl ran off. Probably he had made her late for  
something. He hoped she wouldn't get in trouble because of him. He  
realized that he didn't even know her name.   
  
He unpacked quickly, putting clothes in the small dresser, and a pillow  
and blankets on the bed. He had done his best to make sure that he had  
everything a normal youth would have. He certainly didn't want to flout  
his differences. He wanted to fit in, to get to know them, so that they  
would feel comfortable showing him what they could do.  
  
When he had the room looking the way he wanted it, he turned to leave.  
Just at that moment, a boy stepped into the doorway. He looked about  
eleven or twelve, and was wearing dusty travel clothes, and carrying a  
bag that looked like it had seen better days. When he saw Ranma, he  
smiled. So, he wasn't going to be the youngest one here. That was a  
relief... even if this kid did look like a noble. "Hi, my name's Arran.  
What's yours?"  
  
"Ranma. The left bed is yours." Ranma sat on his bed. He would wait, and  
get to know this boy, before going to the courtyard. Best to see if he  
could pass for normal now, with just one, rather than risking it with  
everyone right off the bat. He had noticed one difference already. Ranma  
had had a guide, this kid hadn't. Or if he had, his guide had left  
before he opened the door. He tucked his legs up lotus style, and  
reached out with his ki, to observe the magic going on in the courtyard,  
while he waited for his roommate to get settled in. He also released  
the Soul of Ice, knowing that a lack of emotional response would seem  
strange to children his age. He looked up when the boy plopped down on  
his bed, sighing.   
  
"So, Ranma, I guess you're a prodigy like me, huh?" He asked, lying  
back, looking up at the ceiling.   
  
"A prodigy," Ranma asked curiously. "What's that?"  
  
Arran sat up, looking over at Ranma. "You don't even... oh, man. Well,  
uhm... I guess a prodigy is somebody that's kinda naturally good at what  
they do. You know, learns it easier than normal people?"  
  
"Oh. Yeah, I guess I'd be one of those, then." Ranma replied.  
  
"So, uh, what kind of magic do you do?" Arran asked. "I'm an  
illusionist."  
  
"An illusionist? What's that?" Ranma asked. It sounded interesting.  
  
"You don't even know the schools? I would have thought that would be  
the first thing they taught. It is everywhere I've heard of. What kind  
of magic do you do?"  
  
"Uhm... I dunno. Martial, I guess."  
  
"Martial? That's not a school. What do you mean?" Arran was puzzled now.  
Why was this boy here? He didn't seem to know _anything_.   
  
"Uhm, well. You know... attacks and stuff," Ranma replied, diffidently.  
He was feeling a bit annoyed. This boy made it sound like he didn't know  
anything, when Ranma was fairly confident by now that he could duplicate  
most of the magic going on in the courtyard.  
  
Arran goggled at him, slack-jawed. Finally he regained control of his  
mouth. "Wow! Most schools don't start teaching attacks until like the  
third or fourth year. Who taught you?"  
  
Ranma was definitely feeling confused now. "Uhm... well, uh. Attacks  
were the first thing I was taught... or well, no, I guess she was trying  
to teach me defense, really. But I can do all the attacks she showed  
me."  
  
"Who? Who taught you? Who's she?"  
  
Ranma sighed. He'd really put his foot in his mouth now. He was  
disappointed with himself. It had been a really long time since he had  
let his mouth trip him up. After learning from Tenchi, he had found that  
he had to really stop and think to talk like that, and sometimes he  
realized that he really just shouldn't say it at all. But this kid was  
talking a lot like Ranma had before Tenchi, and Ranma had followed him,  
lapsed into easy speech patterns, trying to be comfortable, and  
friendly, and wham, foot in mouth time again.  
  
He couldn't just suddenly start talking like Tenchi again. Arann would  
think he had been offended, or something. But he really needed to think  
before speaking. I can't lie to him, I can't say I don't know her name.  
If I tell him I'd rather not say, that'll just make him more curious,  
and others are bound to ask the same questions. I need a good answer.  
Aahh. I could say that she's a sorceress who found me, and I just call  
her the Lady. Yeah, that might work. "Uhm. I just call her the Lady. She  
found me, and took me in." Good, Arran was nodding. I guess maybe that's  
not unheard of.  
  
"Are you here to live and train, or are you here for the competition?"  
  
"Huh? Oh, uh, uhm... the competition, I think." That's weird, Arran  
thought. He sounds so uncertain. Almost like he hadn't realized  
that it was a competition... You'd think he hadn't heard a hundred  
stories about the competitions... but who around here hasn't?  
  
"Where are you from, Ranma?"  
  
"Uh...," Ranma caught himself about to say Japan, "Um... Fey. I come  
from Fey," he replied, hoping that would be enough. He didn't know the  
names of any towns in Fey. He'd have to learn more about his nation when  
he returned.   
  
"Oh, a slave, huh. I guess you're lucky the old Lord died. I heard he  
was real jealous about magic users."  
  
"A... A slave?" Ranma asked. Where had that come from, he wondered.  
  
Arran looked at him, shaking his head from side to side. "Boy, she  
didn't teach you much except magic huh?" he said, sounding sympathetic.  
"Everybody knows that all the people in Fey are slaves. Its not like  
Farallon, where most people are freedmen, and own their land. That's why  
Fey isn't a King, he's a Lord. He doesn't rule Fey, and the people in  
it. He owns them."  
  
Ranma sat numbly. He was in shock. Why had Alana never told him this? He  
didn't want slaves. He didn't want to own people. "Uhm, yeah," he said,  
"she never, uh, told me any of that." She sure hadn't, and he meant to  
find out why!  
  
He sat in silence for a minute, wondering why Arran was looking at him  
so strangely. "So, uh, Arran. You uh, wanna practice or something? Like  
those guys in the courtyard?"  
  
Arran face contorted even more. "Practice? Ranma, those guys aren't  
practicing. They're competing. Haven't you ever seen a magic duel  
before?"  
  
"Uh...," Ranma thought desperately. He had fought Lord Ereth's magic  
upon the stone... but did that count? Oh well, he couldn't admit to  
having seen that without admitting who he was, so, "Uhm... no?"  
  
"Oh, geez. You're hopeless. Look, the idea is one guy does something,  
and keeps casting it, and tries to keep the other guy from dispelling  
it. Then you switch sides. Usually you got a third person there, to  
judge. And the winner is usually the guy who manages to keep from being  
dispelled. If you can't prevent yours from being dispelled, and the  
other guy does, then he wins. If neither of you can, then the guy with  
the more complex spell wins... although it really should be a tie. So  
now that you now, you wanna try it? I'll start, you try to dispell it."  
  
When Ranma nodded, Arran concentrated, muttering, and moving his hands  
in arcane gestures, and the form of a songbird appeared between them.  
"Now try to dispell it," he said, "And I'll try to stop you."  
  
Ranma had watched the threads come together, and seen their form, and he  
gave a light tap with his ki, and the threads fell apart. Arran gasped.  
"How... but... but you didn't cast anything! You didn't do anything!" He  
looked nonplussed, but quickly firmed his face, and began casting again.  
He wasn't going to be beaten so easily by the youngest guy there. He  
just wasn't. He was supposed to be a prodigy, not this darned kid. He  
summoned another bird, an eagle this time, and put twice the time and  
effort into it.  
  
Ranma had realized that he had erred, and while Arran cast, he watched  
the courtyard, and saw the other boys were dispelling by weaving their  
own threads to attempt to pull apart the other boy's creation. It looked  
a lot harder than just tapping the right spot, but Ranma did want to fit  
in.  
  
So this time, he mumbled and waggled his hands for effect, while he drew  
up the threads, wrapped them about Arran's creation, and pulled. It fell  
apart almost as easily. Arran gasped again, and Ranma cursed inwardly.  
He had done just what the other boys did. Why had it worked so damned  
easily?  
  
Arran just gritted his teeth, and tried harder. He worked three times as  
long, and formed a wild stag between them. Ranma lifted a single thread  
this time, and used it to tug on one of Arran's. Arran gasped, and Ranma  
was shocked at the look of sudden strain on his face, as he broke into a  
sweat. Ranma tugged again, and the spell fell apart. "My God, you're  
strong," Arran gasped. I can't do another one, he thought to himself.   
"Ok, now you try," he said.   
  
Ranma nodded, and gathered the threads. He duplicated Arran's eagle, and  
watched intently as Arran gathered numerous threads to tear at it. He  
noticed, now that he was observing only a single attempt, instead of  
many at once, that the action was far more indiscriminate. It was more  
like Arran was throwing the threads at it. He realized then, that Arran  
couldn't really see the threads, and so couldn't control them, the way  
Ranma could. Nonetheless, it worked, and his image fell apart. He  
realized that he wasn't sure what Arran had been doing to hold it  
together. Certainly, he had felt nothing when Arran tore his apart.   
  
Ranma formed another, and this time, having watched how Arran's threads  
had pulled against his, he wound them together in such a way that each  
thread would resist pressure against the next, and the fall away spot  
was buried in the middle. The stag appeared between them. Arran tried,  
but his threads fell upon Ranma's and then fell away, achieving nothing.   
  
"What?," he gasped, nonplussed by the complete lack of any response from  
Ranma. Sure the guy might be strong, but he ought to feel the strain, at  
least. Arran concentrated harder, and Ranma saw wave after wave of  
threads crash invisibly upon the little stag, and now the internal  
twistings and resistance of the threads made the stag seem almost alive.  
Ranma and Arran stared at it as it snorted, and reared, and lashed out  
with sharp hooves, before standing trembling, once Arran had ceased his  
attack. "My God," he said again, reaching out his hand towards it. "You  
made it real," he breathed. His hand touched the stag's back, and he  
felt the fur, before it snorted, and dashed away through the air, to  
hide behind Ranma's head.  
  
Ranma felt frustration twisting in his guts as he looked at the awed  
expression on Arran's face. He had tried so hard to be like them, to fit  
in, and failed, completely. Arran was surprised at the suddenly  
crestfallen look that fell on Ranma's face, and the look of utter  
frustration that followed it.  
  
"You didn't even mean to, did you?" Arran asked. Ranma shook his head,  
irritably.   
  
"Look, Arran. I'm sorry. I just don't know how to do all this stuff  
right. I don't want people thinking I'm different, and treating me  
different. I just wanted to be like all the rest of them." He gestured  
out the door, in the direction of the courtyard.  
  
"Hey, I won't tell anybody. But you're gonna have to do something about  
that, or it'll be darned obvious." Arran pointed at the deer, which was  
snuffling about in the air, looking for grass. "Its just too bad it  
wasn't a bird, or a fire lizard or something. Then you could just say it  
was your familiar. Its unusual to have a familiar this early, but not as  
much as having a deer running around your head."  
  
Ranma looked up at him. "You mean it? You won't say anything?" When  
Arran nodded, puzzled at Ranma's serious, dark expression, and the  
budding hope in his eyes. "Hmmm. What's a fire lizard, Arran? I've never  
heard of them."  
  
"I'll show you one," replied Arran. He cast again, and Ranma studied the  
little creature. It was like a little dragon, thin and long, but it had  
a fatter midbody, more like a lizard, really, and two extra limbs...  
long thin wings, like a bat's.   
  
Ranma looked at the stag. Already, he could see the threads fading,  
falling back into the tapestry. But they were changed. The thing was  
holding its form, even as reality reclaimed it. He realized with a  
start, that Arran was right. Soon there would be almost no magic about  
it, but it would still be there, still be real. Already it was almost  
too late to touch the release, and undo the knot.  
  
Ranma reached out, with real gentleness now, realizing that he had  
made this thing, and he was responsible for it, and he reshaped it into  
a lizard. He focused on even smaller details, making it not just the  
appearance of a thing, but the reality. He made sure it would have  
cohesion, resistance to dispelling magic, then thought back to his  
time with the lion pride, and gave it a playfulness, like the cubs. He  
considered the animals he had gutted and eaten with his father, and  
the way bird's bones fit together, and he knitted a skeleton of light,  
flexible something, not quite bone, but close.   
  
Arran watched in silent wonder, focusing his mage sight, as he saw his  
roommate doing something extraordinary. Fire lizards weren't real. They  
were a story, a myth, and Arran had been half-joking.   
  
Ranma wasn't joking. He was steadily crafting, creating, making them  
real. It was almost frightening. He realized then that he had been  
terribly foolish. He had been joking, but he had known how little Ranma  
knew. Ranma had believed him, that if he made it a fire lizard, people  
would believe it to be his familiar. But everyone, everyone except  
Ranma, that is, knew they weren't real. It was too late, too late to  
warn Ranma. He was already finishing it, adding the last touches...   
  
Ranma had noticed the magic fading in it, and decided that it wasn't  
fair, to a creature born of magic, to lose it so easily. So he poured  
his ki and magic into the creature's heart, and tied it there with magic  
bonds, that it too might remain a thing of magic, even as it became  
real. Like the real dragon he had met, he gave it a breath of flame,  
and lines that would feed its claws and teeth with ki, that it might be  
strong enough for its prey.   
  
Finally, he was done, just as he heard heavy feet pounding in the  
corridor outside. He took the little fire dragon in his hands, and held  
it to his body, warming it with his own heat. He heard a strangled cry  
of alarm, and looking up, saw Arran backing away from a large man  
standing in the door, red-faced.   
  
"What is the meaning of this?" the man roared. Ramna could see  
innumerable faces trying to see around him. The boys from the courtyard.  
"Who's been casting spells of creation here?" He glared at Arran,  
assuming immediately that the older boy had to have done it. Even he was  
far to young to have such power, and the other boy was younger still. He  
was about to shout again, when the fire lizard, hitherto unnoticed by  
him, let out a soft creel. He turned to stare, and saw the golden  
creature cradled in the younger boy's arms.  
  
"I guess I did, Master," replied Ranma. "It was an accident. Arran was  
trying to show me how to compete with magic, like they were doing in the  
courtyard." He pointed behind the Master, who whirled around. The boys  
scattered. The Master turned back, sighed and pulled the door shut  
behind him. He sat heavily on Arran's bed.   
  
"Its alright, boy," he said to Arran. "I won't bite." He turned back to  
Ranma. "Let me see it," he commanded, holding out his hands. Ranma  
reluctantly handed over the little lizard, who creeled again in hunger.  
Ranma pulled a hunk of meat out of nowhere.   
  
"Here, I think he's hungry," Ranma said, holding out the meat. The  
Master stared at him for a minute, then took the meat in his large hand,  
and fed it to the little creature. The Master examined it with his  
magesight, rubbing one thick calloused finger on the creature's head,   
behind the ears, and watching it push its head into his caress, and  
feeling it purr against his hand, and looked up in disbelief.   
  
His voice was tinged with anger. "You expect me to believe you created  
this, this creature, by accident? Preposterous."  
  
"No, no, let me explain," Ranma replied quickly, to forstay the Master's  
anger lest he harm the lizard. "It was a stag, or an image of one, that  
I created in mimicry of Arran's, that I accidentally made real. I've  
never done it before, I didn't even realize what I had done. Then Arran  
said I needed to do something about it quick, and I realized that the  
threads were falling back, but holding their shape. He said that it was  
too bad that it hadn't been a bird or a fire lizard, so I could claim it  
was my familiar. I made him show me what a fire lizard looked like, and  
then I made it like one. "  
  
"You expect me to believe that this is only the second real thing you've  
ever created?" The Master raised his bushy eyebrows, his disbelief  
obvious.  
  
"Well, yes. I mean, I created the two crystal roses, but they weren't  
real in the way it is. And its not the second, its the first. I didn't  
unmake the stag, I just changed it. I modeled it after the lion cubs  
and the dragon I met."  
  
A sudden light of recognition lit the Master's eyes. "Aaaaahhh... Now I  
understand. You are Ranma Fey, aren't you?" He asked, his voice softer  
now.  
  
"Yes, Master, I am." Ranma winced as he noticed Arran's stare. Arran was  
just realizing the implicatios... why Ranma had been surprised when  
Arran thought he was a slave... why he didn't want to say who had  
trained him. This little boy was the Lord Fey, who had defeated the  
champion of Arran's hometown, Lord Roga. Arran suddenly dropped off the  
bed, to his knees, and placed his head on his hands, on the floor. Ranma  
groaned. "Why'd you have to go and say that, Master? Arran," and he  
reached down, and lifted the boy bodily to his feet, "didn't I just get  
through saying I didn't want to be treated no different than anybody  
else. What are you doing?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Lord Fey," rumbled the Master. "I should have realized your  
intentions. Arran," he said, and the boy looked up at him. "You will say  
nothing of this to anyone." Arran nodded. "You will, of course, continue  
to help the Lord Fey fit in with the other boys. Explain the competition  
to him."   
  
He turned back to Ranma. "I had hoped to have a chance to talk to you,  
before you came here, but I was held up." He settled back on the bed,  
but reached out, the lizard cradled in a single large palm as he handed  
it back to Ranma. Ranma took it in silence. "I hope you understand, Lord  
Fey, that though we will permit you to enter the competition, and stay  
here, none of this will have the slightest effect on the outcome of our  
decisions."  
  
"Yes, I know," Ranma replied softly, with just a hint of sadness, "I  
realize that you can't have an outside Lord on your council. I'm not  
here for that. I'm here to learn as much as I can from watching the  
magic cast around here, so that I may in time learn enough to free the  
Lady. No-one else can do it, but I, so it falls to me to find a way. I  
appreciate your willingness to let me stay and observe."  
  
"I am afraid you misunderstand me, Lord Fey," and laughter rumbled in  
his belly, "The reason you will have no effect on the outcome is simply  
that a place on our council is yours for the asking. You need win  
nothing to get that."  
  
"What?" Ranma looked up at him with wide eyes. "But why?"  
  
"We heard what you did with Lord Ereth, Lord Fey, how you faced him and  
his hounds. You freed them with an ease that no Archmage of Farallon  
could ever achieve. If only in your powers of dispelling, you have  
already earned your place on our council." Arran gasped. He had heard  
stories of the terrible Lord Ereth, and his Hounds.   
  
"And now, you demonstrate that you have equal power in creation. I tell  
you, Ranma, not one in a thousand mages has the power and skill to  
create a truly living being, as you have done. A fascimile of one,  
certainly, a simulacrum, a thing that seems real, easily. But to truly  
create life? Twice over you have earned your place. If you will, then  
after the competition is over, and you have seen all you want, you will  
come and join our circle."  
  
Ranma just gaped at him. Arran looked timidly at the Master. "Master,  
why do you say 'truly create life'? How can you tell that this fire  
lizard is more alive than that stag that he made?"  
  
The Master laughed again. "Two reasons. First, the little creature seems  
to be Lord Fey's familiar. How he managed that, I'm not sure, but the  
link between them is there, clear as day. Second, its female, and its  
pregnant. Anyone can create a thing. Lord Fey has created a new race!"  
With that startling pronouncement, he stood and left.  
  
Ranma looked down at the lizard he held. "Arran," he asked, looking up,  
"What's a familiar, anyway?" Arran fell off the bed in shock.  
  
---  
  
While Ranma's creation of the fire lizard had pretty much blown his  
pretense of being like every one else, he had also realized that with  
the range of his additional senses, he didn't need to be very close to  
anyone to observe their use of magic.   
  
So when he and Arran walked out to the courtyard, and he heard the  
conversation just stop dead as everyone turned to look at him, he  
ignored them. He just looked around, picked a spot that looked good, and  
made a standing leap forty feet to settle on the edge of the roof over  
the barracks, looking down on the courtyard. He sat there and watched  
the boys, stroking his fire lizard.   
  
The few boys who had been planning on razzing the youngest boy for  
getting in trouble with the Masters so soon after showing up, were  
silenced by his leap. Most of them were using mage sight, a necessity in  
their competitions, and there had been no hint of magic as he made that  
leap. If he was that strong, they wanted nothing to do with teasing him.  
  
Ranma watched for a minute to be sure that Arran wasn't being excluded,  
but it looked like he didn't need to worry. Several groups invited him  
over. Ranma realized they were probably pumping Arran for information  
about him, but he wasn't worried.  
  
Still stroking the lizard, Ranma extended his senses outward, until he  
could see all the activity in the field. Focusing now on one pair, now  
on another, Ranma began to notice subtler details about the boys'  
activities. He recognized that some of the boys were achieving identical  
effects with fewer threads and less power. Examining the differences  
between them, Ranma slowly got a feel for what the important parts of  
the spells were, and what was just extra.   
  
Eventually, he began to experiment himself, conjuring creations in the  
air before him, to see how his capabilities compared with theirs. At  
first, his creations were clumsy, little better than those of the people  
he was watching. After several hours, as boys came and went, he had  
discovered that he could accomplish the most complex things they were  
doing in the field with a single thread, twisted about itself in a  
complex fashion. He also realized that as with his ki, as he practiced,  
he was steadily able to use less power to achieve a similar effect, by  
being more precise about his placements and pressures.   
  
He also began to perceive the different schools of which Arran had  
spoken. While all the dispellings bore similarities, one to the other,  
he could perceive distinct classes of conjurations. Some were conjuring  
images, like Arran had done. He assumed they were the illusionists.  
Others were conjuring balls of fire or water, or summoning clouds of  
insects, while still others needed a forth participant, upon whom they  
cast some effect, while the other contestant attempted to dispell it.  
  
---   
  
When the competitions finally began, Ranma quickly rose in their ranks.  
He was careful to always use magic to dispell their conjurations, rather  
than his ki, to avoid charges of cheating. He only ever had to make one  
creation per contest. They never succeeded at dispelling his creations.  
He had gone to one of the Masters, who had carefully explained the  
theory behind creating real things, so that even though he still used  
the techniques of hiding the weak point in the center, and using  
countervailing resistance in the threads, they did not become real.  
  
He underwent some individual testing with several Masters. One of them  
was able to determine that the lizard was in fact not Ranma's familiar.  
The large Master had simply seen the connection that had been the result  
of Ranma fueling the creature with his ki. Over time, the patterns of  
the lizard's ki flow changed to suit it, and the connection disappeared.  
The only thing that kept the little beggar with him, was the lion like  
personality. She looked to Ranma as the pack head, the chief lion... her  
mate.  
  
He didn't face any real problems in the competition, until the second to  
last round. There, he faced one of the three girls who had entered. They  
were housed in a different portion of the complex, and he had not seen  
any of them before. This girl was about fifteen, well-developed, and  
quite pretty, with long black hair, a finely featured face, and flashing  
green eyes.  
  
When she crafted her creation, he could not see it with his ki. He could  
see the delicate butterfly with his eyes, but to his ki-sight, it simply  
wasn't there. When he tried an educated guess with a single thread, the  
sudden look of pain on her face told him that he could destroy it. But  
unlike the boys, who felt no pain when he used a thread to simply touch  
the same spot he would touch with his ki, he would have to tear her  
butterfly apart, and it would hurt her terribly as she struggled to hold  
it together. He hurt inside already at the pain he had caused her.   
  
He wanted to concede, but the girl grew furious at him. The Masters  
agreed with her. He had the power, they knew, and they could only assume  
he was refusing to use it because she was a girl. She was right to be  
angry at such unfair treatment. He tried to explain, but they didn't  
understand that he could dispell the boy's creations without causing  
them pain. All dispellings caused pain, they insisted.   
  
Growing grim, he nodded. If he could not see her magic, maybe at least  
he could sever the connection. He concentrated, drawing up the  
threads... and suddenly she was frozen, unmoving, not even breathing.  
Her hair didn't respond to the wind... it was as if she had fallen out  
of time, and its inexorable pull no longer reached her. The Masters were  
quite disconcerted, but before they could react to save the girl, Ranma  
had dispelled her butterfly with a massive dispelling, that actually  
tore the air about the butterfly, becoming briefly visible, then gently  
drawn her back.   
  
She had merely been confused, and hurt at being treated differently just  
because she was a girl. Magic was supposed to be one field where that  
didn't matter, where a woman could be as powerful as a man, or even  
stronger. She hadn't even realized what he had done. To her, it was  
the same as with the boys... he concentrated, and her butterfly was  
gone. To her, it proved his lie, that he had had no reason to treat  
her differently. But the Masters knew otherwise, and were astounded and   
afraid. They withdrew Ranma from the contest, fearing the consequences  
if they pushed him too far a second time.  
  
They did let him enter the second competition. This one again tested the  
mage's ability to perceive and counteract the works of others. It was a  
long series of archways, doors, and openings, each bound by a magic  
user. They were successively harder... the first few were locked by  
cantrips cast by students, then real spells by first year students, on  
up to masters as you got deeper. The final door was locked by a combined  
spell cast by the top mage and the top magess of the council. No-one was  
expected to go all the way. You were judged, rather, on how far you got.  
  
Ranma was the last to go, and all the Masters gathered to watch. This  
would be a sight, as Ranma was already justly famed for dispelling the  
magic that bound Lord Ereth's hounds.  
  
In actual fact, it was a bit of a disappointing spectacle. Most of the  
other mage's attempts had been quite showy, as they tried to break  
through with sheer force of magic.   
  
Ranma, in contrast, simply walked, and as he approached each door, each   
obstacle, it swung wide, or rolled upwards, or otherwise removed itself  
from his path. Not until the third to last door did he slow. This was  
one enchanted by a magess named Marla, and he simply stopped, and looked  
at it. He tried the door handle, and it refused to open. There was open  
muttering among the Masters, who were finally beginning to realize that  
there was in fact something different about feminine magic to this  
young man. There was no other reason for this door to be any different,  
and in this case, it was quite impossible for it to be any matter of  
prejudice with the boy. After all, he did not know who had cast the  
spells, and had no way of knowing that he was facing a female's work...  
unless there truly was a difference to him.  
  
He punched the door, and the ringing of the iron resounded in the hall,  
drowning out Marla's gasp. She was not defending her spell, as the  
young girl had been, but she kept a light touch on it, wanting to see  
how he worked. She had felt his blow, a purely physical thing, but it  
had reverbrated through her magical construct.  
  
Now he looked at the door, and looked around him. Then he centered  
himself, and pushed at the door. This was a quieter thing, and several  
of the Masters heard Marla's gasp, and saw her turn pale. The door did  
not open... no, rather, the entire construct, the entire line of doors,  
a construct of heavy iron and stone, slid several feet down the hall.  
Most of the Master's mouths fell open. Ranma looked slightly annoyed  
now.  
  
He brightened, seeming to come to some realization. A sudden blue light  
flared about his hand, as he plunged it through the door. Marla fell to  
the floor as if shot. Several Masters rushed to her side, the rest  
watched in awe, as Ranma forced his other hand in beside the first,  
gripped the iron, and tore the door in half like a sheet of paper. There  
was a sharp crack, as Marla's spell failed, and she fainted.  
  
They revived her in time to watch as he walked curiously through the  
second to last door, as if wondering why it wasn't harder than the  
previous one. He came to the last door, then, bound with cords he could  
see. Something felt familiar about it... like when he had looked and  
seen the chains that bound his Lady... there was something else there,  
something he couldn't see. Again he tried to touch the right spots, but  
the strands failed to separate. There was something else there,  
something holding them together.   
  
He tried again to force his hand in, but the dual bindings resisted his  
ki claws. Gathering himself, and finding his center again, he placed  
his hands on the door. Centering himself to the floor, the portion of  
the construct beneath him, so that he was applying force to this piece  
of the construct, instead of the construct as a whole, he began to push.   
  
Liliana and Mardo both grimaced at the strain, then gasped, as Ranma  
suddenly put the force of the Tai Chi Chuan behind himself. It was still  
not enough. He summoned the Neko-ken, and poured ki into his limbs. The  
Masters stared in awe, as he glowed a brilliant blue, in the form of a  
great cat. He strained harder, and sweat appeared on Liliana and Mardo's  
faces. The Masters were looking worried now. This was unheard of, to  
break so strong a spell with mere physical force, but they could see on  
Liliana and Mardo's faces that the spell was feeling great strain. They  
were watching with magic sight, so knew that in spite of the strange  
aura and sheer power, he had not yet employed any magic.  
  
Ranma reached deeper yet, focusing on how he had extended the Neko-ken,  
and reached beyond that, even deeper, and drew up strands of magic into  
himself, into the pool of ki that fed the Neko-ken. That caused a truly  
interesting result... the ki and his body merged, as he swelled into a  
much larger form, grew hair and powerful claws, and teeth lengthened in  
his mouth. In moments, he looked like a six-foot tall tiger taken human  
form, and he pushed with his greatly enhanced strength, ki-filled limbs,  
and the power of the Tai Chi Chuan, and the doors burst asunder. Liliana  
and Mardo collapsed bonelessly to the ground.  
  
Ranma turned, and roared his triumph, soaring with the rush of the  
Neko-ken, and something greater, and his roar shook the city. Then he  
noticed his hands... er, paws, and his rather greater height.   
Thankfully, he had been wearing clothes that merely looked normal, but  
were actually that same garment that had attached itself to him upon  
Lord Fey's death, and they had grown with him. Nevertheless, several of  
the female mages grew faint at the sight of him, huge and muscular, and  
well, sexy as hell.  
  
Ranma stared down at himself, confused. Nothing like this had ever  
happened to him before, and he hadn't the foggiest clue how to get back,  
until he finally noticed the threads of magic trapped in his ki. He  
brushed them casually aside, and suddenly fell back to his previous  
height. He grinned. That had been pretty cool, really, once he knew he  
could get rid of it.  
  
His smile faded, as he walked slowly back towards the entrance. That  
last door had been so like his Lady's chains. He had not been able to  
free them. He had destroyed the chains, assuredly, but only by   
destroying the door as well. Not until he could face such a door, and  
open it without harming it, would he be able to free his Lady. What were   
these bonds, that he could not see, these threads that escaped his   
vision?  
  
Liliana and Mardo revived shortly thereafter, and stared at the scene.  
Casting that door had been a personal yearly exercise for them. They  
were of the mutual opinion that every magic user should attempt at least  
once a year to surpass themselves, to cast something more powerful than  
they had cast the year before. After all, if you were capable of it,  
then it at least showed that you were steadily getting stronger, whether  
it actually assisted in that increase of strength or not.  
  
This casting of the door was their personal best effort, each year.  
Every time this contest came around (the contest occurred yearly to  
measure the progress of the students, irrespective of whether there were  
openings on the council or not) they tried to surpass each other in  
binding the door. Every year, they had to devote considerable effort to  
disbanding the bonds. They would only do so, of course, after any Master  
who was interested had a go at it. At least one a year did, often  
several. It had never been broken though. The bonds had never been  
released, except by the two of them, working in tandem.  
  
This boy, this mere child, had not only destroyed the doors, and burst  
asunder a spell that combined the ultimate power of two of the top mages  
on the council, he had not used any magic directed at the spell itself.  
The other watching Masters had been clear on that point. He had only  
used magic to increase his own strength. He had broken their most  
powerful spell, with directed physical energy, nothing more.   
  
---  
  
Ariana was assisting the other second year students in cleaning out the  
extra barracks, that had held the contestants during their stay, when  
she stopped outside one of the doors. Had she just heard a sob? She  
pushed lightly on the door, and it swung quietly inward. She stifled a  
gasp, as she realized what room this was, and who that was, lying on the  
bed. She had heard from Liliana what he had done. He should be out  
celebrating somewhere, triumphant, like the roar she had heard. Liliana  
had said that was him.  
  
Yet here he lay, facedown on his bed, crying into his pillow. She  
entered the room quietly, noticing that the other boy's things were  
gone, and closed the door behind her. Muttering below her breath, she  
cast a warning and holding spell on the door, then turned to look at the  
boy.   
  
His power was no less than it had been, so he hadn't burnt himself out,  
as she had heard one could do by trying to use too much power. She sat  
tentatively on the side of the bed, and lay one hand lightly on his  
shoulder. She felt his sobs cease instantly. He rubbed his face from  
side to side on the pillow, then pulled himself up, folding his legs up  
lotus style, to sit, looking at her, dry eyes a deep blue in his tear  
stained face. She had been about to try to comfort him, to ask him why  
he was crying, when she had felt him stiffen. She had drawn her hand  
back, and watched as he sat up to face her. Her fear came back to her.  
Iron will, Liliana had said, and he was showing it now. His pain was  
gone, vanished behind an emotionless mask.  
  
"I'm sorry," she gasped, looking at his hard eyes. "I didn't mean to  
disturb you, I just... I heard you, and I thought..."  
  
"It's alright, Lady. It's nothing," he said in a quiet voice, as his  
eyes softened. "You know, Lady, you left so quickly last time... I never  
learned your name."  
  
"Oh! I'm sorry. I'm Ariana. I'm a second year student here." She tried  
to smile at him.  
  
"A pretty name," he replied. "I thank you for your concern."  
  
"Please... won't you let me help? Tell me what's wrong... please," she  
pleaded him. It frightened her, this mask. If he was hiding such pain,  
what else might he be hiding... and what would happen to them all when  
he could hide no more? She turned to face him, pulling her legs up  
beneath her. "I want to help."  
  
He sighed. "There is nothing you can do, Ariana. I already asked you,  
you could not answer me."  
  
"What?" Ariana was confused. What had he spoken to her about... Ah,  
yes... but how could her hiding her aura be causing him such pain. "I  
don't understand... you can't see my aura, you said that... but why  
should that make you cry? It didn't stop you from opening the last door.  
No-one's EVER done that before!"  
  
"Yes," he said with bitterness, "But I had to destroy the door to do  
it." Finally, the mask had dropped, and she could see the pain in his  
eyes. She wanted to reach out to him, but held back, out of fear. She  
didn't want that mask to reappear.  
  
"I don't understand. You've done something no else has ever done. How  
can that make you so sad?"  
  
Tears started trickling down his cheeks again, and she could no longer  
resist. He looked just like her little brother, when he was hurt, and  
she reached out, and pulled him, unresisting, into her lap and held him  
while he spoke, not seeming to see or notice her, his voice low and  
quiet, and unaffected by his tears.  
  
"I did what no one else has ever done... but I am the only one who can  
possibly do what I must do. I have to free her, but I can only see half  
her chains. It was the same with the door... I could only see half the  
chains. If I could have seen them all, it would have opened for me as  
easily as all the other doors did. But I could only see half, and I  
could not undo a single knot. I broke the chains, but only by destroying  
the door. I cannot do the same with her. I cannot allow harm to come to  
her... but I must destroy her chains. Yet I cannot see them." Ariana was  
crying now, not really understanding who he was speaking of, but feeling  
his pain at his unability to free her, whoever she was, feeling herself  
resonate with the deep pain that laced his voice.  
  
"What do you mean, when you say you can see chains? What do they look  
like?"  
  
"After I learned the Shining Darkness, I began to see threads in magic  
things. Its like there is a background to everything, of these threads,  
and magic is when these threads are drawn up to form something."  
  
"Weird. That sounds kinda like the tapestry theory of magic... but  
that's just a theory, an idea. Nobody's been able to prove it."  
  
"Really? Cool, I didn't know that."  
  
"You weren't taught any magical theory?"  
  
"Uhmm... not really. She just kinda pounded me with magic attacks until  
I started being able to feel their weak points, and break them. After a  
while, I was able to feel more points, and then to even feel where the  
magic was coming from. Then I duplicated one of her attacks, by the  
feel. After Master Kagano blinded me and taught me the..."  
  
"You're blind?" she interrupted, shocked. "He blinded you, and then  
taught you? That's awful!"  
  
"No, no, its not like that. I'm not blind anymore. It was temporary, to  
help me develop my sixth and seventh senses. Once I had mastered the  
Shining Darkness, I was able to actually see the threads. That's why I  
was able to do so well in the competitions. I can see the threads, and  
see the weak point, and I just have to tap it with a thread of magic,  
and the construct falls apart. Until I fought that girl. I don't know  
her name. She got really mad at me for some reason. I couldn't see her  
magic at all. I destroyed it finally, with sheer blind force."  
  
"That's amazing! You really see the threads?"  
  
"Yeah. That's how I created her." Ranma pointed to the head of his bed,  
and for the first time, Ariana saw the golden fire lizard, sleeping on  
the far side of his pillow.  
  
"You... you created her? My word..." Ariana was in awe. The little  
creature was absolutely beautiful, and the slow rise and fall of her  
chest made it clear that she was alive.  
  
"Yeah... it was kind of an accident..." Ariana gulped and looked at him  
wide-eyed. He had created that beautiful creature... by accident?!?  
Whoa... too deep, change the subject.  
  
"Uhm... Ranma, why are you still here? Everyone else who came to the  
test has either returned to their homes, or been given rooms in the  
student quarters. You must have passed the tests, given what you did on  
the second challenge. Surely they're going to let you in?" Ariana hoped  
he wouldn't say they were going to refuse him a place because he was the  
Lord Fey. She thought her teachers were above such pettiness.  
  
"Oh... well, no, not really. We're just going to be here another week.  
Apparently they've got to wait for Master Ikoju to get back before they  
can in... de... deduct me?"  
  
"Induct you?" Ariana gasped. He couldn't mean what she thought he  
meant... could he? But then again, if he could create that fire lizard  
by accident, maybe he did belong on the council.  
  
"Yeah, that. Master Mardo told me before the competitions began, when I  
made her," he pointed again at the sleeping lizard, who shifted  
slightly, wings rustling. "that I could have a place on the Council if I  
wanted it."   
  
She gaped at him, though he couldn't see it. He still didn't seem to  
notice, or at least to have reacted, to the fact that he was sitting in  
her lap. She didn't realize that that was because he was in fact used to  
it. Whenever he got emotional, or tried to retreat from her, the Lady  
Alana would pull him onto her lap and cradle him, as if to remind him of  
the first time she had done that, to remind him that he had already  
opened up before her, poured out his fears to her. It wasn't that he  
didn't realize he was sitting on her lap. It just hadn't really dawned  
on him that this wasn't Alana he was talking to. Oh, he realized it  
consciously, but subconsciously, it was all so like his conversations  
with Alana that his defensive reactions never kicked in.  
  
In this position, facing away from the person he was speaking to,  
cradled and held by them, he could both feel assured of their love and  
yet, since he couldn't see them, he could pretend to himself that he was  
alone, and so it was okay to be open. He was still trying to bury his  
pain and fear behind the wall of ice, but he was not yet strong enough  
to hold it in. He could not bear to see the pain in Alana's eyes,  
though, so he spoke of it, only while sitting on her lap, facing away,  
where he could not see her.  
  
"Mardo and Liliana spent some time explaining to me what the duties are,  
that would go along with the position. They didn't seem too bad, and it  
would give me a chance to observe some really powerful casting. I think  
I'll come back next year, before the competition, to watch them cast the  
door, and then I'll try to open it again. Maybe if I can manage to open  
that door without breaking it, I'll be able to free the Lady. Someday. I  
swear it."  
  
"I believe you," she said intensely. He realized suddenly, where he was,  
and who he was with. This wasn't Alana. Instantly he was out of her lap,  
standing before her, the mask again on his face, though his eyes were  
downcast. His face was an emotionless mask... but his body posture spoke  
to her of... shame?  
  
"I'm sorry, Ariana. I didn't realize... I didn't mean to burden you with  
that." As he said the last, in a firm tone full of sincere contrition,  
he raised his eyes to her face. For the first time, he realized she was  
crying, and the mask seemed to break, and fall from his face as he  
dropped to his knees before her. "Oh, please, Ariana, don't cry. I'm  
sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. Please don't cry."  
  
She smiled at him through her tears. "Don't worry, Ranma. Its alright.  
Sometimes it feels good to cry. I always cry when I read a romantic  
story. You obviously love her very much. Who is she?"  
  
He looked up at her. "The Lady Alana," he said absently, puzzling over  
her words. Sometimes it feels good to cry? She wanted to cry?   
  
"Oh..." she breathed out slowly. Wow. That was even more romantic... the  
story of her and Lord Fey was the most tragic love story Ariana had ever  
heard... and he was trying to free her? "But I thought you freed her  
when you killed the Lord Fey?" Just like a knight in a story, freeing  
the beautiful princess. But the stories never had the seven-year old  
knight freeing a lady several hundred years his senior.  
  
"No. The bonds that trapped her with him are still there. They bind her  
to me now, and so I must free her."  
  
"Oh... that's wonderfully romantic...," she sighed. Maybe one day,  
someone would come and try to free her... No, she was going to be a  
magess, she didn't need someone to save her. It would be sweet,  
though...  
  
Ranma looked at her curiously. At least she had stopped crying. She  
thought it was romantic, that the Lady Alana was trapped loving a kid,  
when she should be free to roam the skies? Weird, definitely weird.   
  
"You should consider staying here. You said she hasn't taught you any  
theory. Maybe if you learned more of the theory, you might come up with  
a way to free her?"  
  
"Oh... uhm. I never thought of that. I'm not really good at studying,  
and school, and stuff. I'll ask the Lady." He jumped up. "Thanks,  
Ariana," he said, smiling at her, and then with a whoosh, he was gone...  
through the door, which burst asunder, and cast sparks about. Oh well...  
a simple locking and warning spell couldn't be expected to stand up to  
the boy who could take out the most powerful holding spell ever devised.  
She wondered why he hadn't dispelled it, then realized he must not have  
been able to see it.   
  
It was then she finally recognized the connection. He hadn't been able  
to see that one girl's spell, nor Marla's, nor half of Liliana and  
Mardo's, and he hadn't noticed her spell on the door, and couldn't see  
her magic aura. She was stunned at how obvious it was. He was blind to  
the female principle. If the theory of the tapestry was right, then  
basically he could see only the woof, but not the deeper warp threads.   
  
She sat for a time, pondering the implications of that, only to look up  
startled, when she felt a sharp pricking on her thigh. She looked down  
to see the fire lizard staring up at her, one tiny claw resting on her  
thigh. It creeled at her. "Oh, hello... are you hungry? Or do you just  
miss Ranma?" She sat stiff as it proceeded to crawl up her dress, to lie  
on her shoulder, and throttle her neck with its tail. When its tail  
wrapped about her, she felt a sudden pang of hunger. "Alright, I'll find  
you some food," she said.  
  
Ranma raced down the halls. He had not seen the Lady since the  
competitions had begun, and he was eager to speak with her.   
  
In the end, Ranma spent nearly six months in the Mage Towers, learning  
theory, while at his behest, Alana worked on a plan to free his people  
from slavery without causing hardship or a revolt. While there, he  
learned most of the theory of magic. He amazed the teachers by the  
speed of his learning, and also by his remarkable ability to cast magic  
from even diametrically opposed schools with ease. It wasn't all  
magic, though. Since mages inevitably have to deal with nobility, and  
since they often come from humble beginnings, the mage school had  
classes for subjects like diplomacy, etiquette, and courtly protocols,  
that Alana made Ranma take. When he left, the fire lizard stayed behind.  
He left her in the care of Liliana and Ariana. He had too many burdens  
to care for a new race, and they were delighted at the opportunity. The  
secondary reason, of course, was that she had lain her eggs in her nest,  
and it was thought unwise to move them.  
  
---  
  
When news of the Lord Fey's new position as a Mage of the Mage Towers  
reached Krall, the blow had been softened by a steady diet of failure.  
Krall faced the fact that he would simply not be able to eliminate the  
boy alone. If he wanted to take Fey Castle, he would have to use more  
traditional means, and that would be most easily accomplished if he had  
a proper army.   
  
This was an especially harsh decision to have to make, in light of the  
beating his forces had taken during the purge, which at this point, was  
still ongoing, though it had slowed significantly. Krall was beginning  
to question his decision to hand that operation over to Friss, but no  
longer had the leverage to contest it.  
  
No, he would have to begin a slow process of rebuilding. Well, hopefully  
he would be able to position himself to take one of these damn  
countries, then he would be able to seed their army with his own forces,  
and commence with some serious training. However he accomplished it, he  
would avenge his loss... perhaps at the right time, an alliance with the  
Lord Ereth would provide sufficient force.  
  
Or even more interesting, perhaps he could convince the Lord Ereth to  
move against the damned dragon that had taken the boy and the Lady Alana  
past the forces arrayed against him. If the boy went to the dragon's  
defense, it would leave his own land undefended.  
  
No matter, it would be five years at the least, more likely six to nine,  
before he would be in a position to execute either plan.   
  
  
  
  



	18. The True Neko-ken

The True Neko-Ken  
  
  
When the time for the annual competition came around again, in Ranma's  
ninth year, he and the Lady prepared to return to the Mage Towers. Ranma  
had spent the intervening time working on magic with the Lady, learning  
to perfect his own style of casting. On his own time, he had worked out  
innumerable uses of magic that would fit into his fighting style. Of  
course, he was unsure whether he would ever use them, as he preferred to  
fight on his opponent's level, but it was part of his family's style, to  
take everything that he had learned, and integrate it into his style.  
  
He also spent time in training the masters in his Dojo. Then too, there  
was the young man who had appeared one day, a Nameless, who had asked  
for training, claiming to have been sent by an oracle who had told him  
to seek training under the Lord Fey. He was on some quest for vengeance,  
and had left after training for only six months, but he had promised to  
return, when Ranma offered to give him his name. He claimed that he  
could not accept the name of Fey, until he had attained his vengeance  
for the loss of his former name, and his family. He was of particular  
interest to Ranma, for Li, which was the only name he would give, was  
oriental. Up to that point, the only people of apparent oriental origin  
that Ranma had encountered had been his Lady, and her sister.   
  
They did not prepare for a long journey this time. His studies with the  
mages there had borne little fruit, but he had learned what he they  
could teach him, and they would not stay there long. Instead, they  
prepared what they would need for their stay in the Mage Towers, and on  
the day the competition was to begin, Ranma led the Lady Alana to the  
scrying room.  
  
There, he filled the basin with water, calmed it with his ki, then drew  
up his power, and focused it into the basin. When the water cleared,  
they could see the main entrance of the Mage Towers before them. Ranma  
used it to guide his ki as he wove the threads together about them, and  
when he released the threads, the paths of their return opened a path  
between places, a doorway in the air, through which they stepped, from  
his summoning room, into the bright sunshine that poured down upon the  
open courtyard. They were greeted by the Magess Liliana.  
  
This time Ranma did not object to the rooms they were offered in the  
Nobles' Hall. He was quick to ask Ariana to guide him to where the young  
wizards were practicing though. This time, she did not walk with  
downcast eyes. Instead, she held her eyes on him, taking in the changes   
a year had wrought. In the two years he had been with the Lady Alana, he  
had filled out and gained several inches in height. Now he looked his  
age, instead of younger. The difference in their years was still too  
great for her to look on him as more than a friend, but she felt some  
pride in him, the pride a sister might feel for a brother who has done  
well for himself.  
  
He had missed last year's competition amongst the students of the Mage  
Towers. The competition he had attended had been more like an entrance  
exam, and the competitors had been trained by outsiders. The ones he  
watched now, as he sat again in his familiar perch above the barracks,  
though these were not the same barracks he had lived in, were definitely  
more skilled, and he was delighted at some of the things they were able  
to do.  
  
When he joined the Masters to watch the first rounds of competition, he  
was surprised to see that many of them had a fire lizard on a shoulder  
or carried in the crook of an arm. "Your children have become quite  
popular, Ranma," Liliana assured him. "They make excellent familiars.  
They are remarkably intelligent, and can be taught simple magic. Not to  
mention lighting candles with their breath." Her eyes glinted with  
humour, for a silvery lizard rested upon her own shoulder, and its eyes  
glinted iwth a mischievous light. He smiled back, and turning from  
watching the success of his accidental creation, fixed his eyes and his  
ki sight on the contests going on before him.  
  
The next day, he went with Ariana to watch Liliana and Mardo again cast  
the doors. "You know," Ariana said to him, laughing softly as they  
watched the preparations, "the ironmongers in town call on the blessings  
of the great Tiger Fey now. Their coffers were filled with gold when  
they had to work for several weeks to craft these new doors, for the  
last and third to last challenges. It was many years ago, the first time  
they crafted these. They praise you, because you destroyed the doors,  
and forced them to be reforged, for the first time since they were   
created."  
  
Ranma groaned, then sighed, and said, the sadness evident in his voice,  
"Perhaps this will be the year that I can open the door without  
destroying it." He moved closer, and focused his mage sight and his  
ki, as Mardo and Liliana began to weave their spell.  
  
When it was complete, Ariana again turned to him. "You know, the  
Masters decided this year to open your trial to the public. I hope you  
don't mind. All the city heard your roar that day, and it took the  
Masters considerable time and effort to prevent a panic. Also, all the  
students will be there to watch. Liliana said it's to keep us humble.  
More of the doors this year have been enspelled by women, to give you  
more chances, and because you have really made the Masters recognize  
that there really is a difference."  
  
"Its ironic, Ariana. I will be humiliated before a whole city, when I  
fail to open that door without destroying it. Yet they will cheer, and  
think that I have triumphed. At least you will know. You will understand  
that I have failed again."  
  
"Don't be so negative. You might get it this time," Ariana scolded him.  
She hated to see anyone looking so depressed.  
  
He smiled at her, but it was a sad smile. "I need no false modesty,  
Ariana. I have watched the casting. I do not yet know enough, or see  
enough, to open these doors the way I need to. Perhaps I will be able to  
use less force, to be more gentle. Nonetheless, I am still far from  
being able to free my lady. You know, I never really thanked you for  
what you did for me the last time."   
  
He looked up into her brown eyes, and smiled at her. "Thank you, Ariana.  
The training I received here a year ago was well worth having, and I  
appreciate it, and the comfort you gave me. I still regret laying my  
burden on you, but I am glad you were willing to help me bear it."  
  
She smiled down at him, thinking how much he looked like her little  
brother when he smiled like that. It was too bad he didn't smile more  
often. "I'll be there for you again, Ranma. Come to me, please. Don't  
run and hide again."  
  
"I will," he said, and his eyes held a promise to her, and he always  
kept his promises.  
  
Over the next several days, Ariana was rarely far from him. She was his  
designated guide for his stay, and she enjoyed his company. After one of  
the competitions, as she led him back to his room, she asked him,  
"Ranma, I heard something from a guy I met in the city guard a few  
months ago. He was in the border guards, and he said that when they  
guided you through Farallon, to the other side... well, that you played  
a flute every night?"  
  
"Yes, I did. I play for the Lady. Given what she has had to give up by  
being bound to me, I do what I can to give back. I cook for her, and I  
play for her, and I take her flying. Why do you ask?"  
  
"Well...," Ariana flushed, embarrassed. "I just... wondered why you  
never played while you were here?"   
  
"Oh. Well, the flute I play is really the Dragon Fang, and the Lady said  
it was impolite to bring weapons here. So I haven't anything to play."  
  
"If...," and Ariana flushed again. He did this for his Lady, he said,  
because of what he had given up. Why would he want to play for her? "If  
I could find a flute for you, would you play for me?," she asked in a  
rush, then turned away to hide her embarrassment. He didn't seem to  
notice.   
  
"Sure, that'd be cool. Then I could play for the Lady again," he  
replied.  
  
A short while later, Ariana was sitting on a couch in Ranma's room,  
while he settled himself in lotus position on the bed. He was holding a  
metal flute that she had borrowed from Liliana. He fingered it for a  
moment, examining the differences between it and his normal instrument.  
Then he put it to his lips, and began to play.  
  
Ariana found herself riding an emotional roller coaster, as Ranma poured  
his heart into his music, his eyes closed. He played his his joy at   
soaring in the clouds with his Lady, his pleasure in the delight she   
took in their regular flights. Then he focused on the pain he felt each   
time they landed, and he knew that she could not do this except with   
him, because of him. He played his fear that he would never be strong   
enough to free her, a fear that was deep within him, but one he never   
dared put into words. He poured his hope into the flute, his hope that   
the door bound by Liliana and Mardo might one day open before him, and   
tell him that he was ready.   
  
He poured himself into his playing, and when he finally stopped, it was  
several minutes before Ariana realized it. As she came back to herself,  
she suddenly became aware that he had stopped, and was looking at her  
curiously, and that there were tears trickling down her face.   
  
She jumped up and swept him off the bed, hugging him and swinging him  
around. "That was wonderful, Ranma! Thank you." She finally set him  
down. He looked a little dazed. She grinned, and bent over to kiss his  
cheek, before stealing from the room, leaving him there with a look of  
confusion on his face. He had been curious to see her reaction, stunned  
to see her tears, and confused by her seeming happiness and enjoyment,  
in spite of her tears.   
  
"I'll never understand girls."  
  
---  
  
The heavy doors swung wide before him, and Ranma, the Lord Fey, dressed  
at the Mages' encouragement in the Dragon Armor which he had summoned  
from its resting place in his hall, entered the long hall slowly, taking  
in the challenge before him, the long sequence of locked and magically  
held openings. He heard the swell of cheers, and the sibilant but muted  
roar of conversation. He looked to either side, and saw that the long  
rows of seats on either side, that stretched up and away toward the   
distant sky above the open air hall, that had been empty when last he  
was here, were now full.   
  
To his right, on the lower levels, extending on down to the end, were  
seated the students of the Mage Towers. To his left, in the long flat  
low-walled observation area, were the Mages. Behind the Mages and the  
students, on both sides, filling the stands, were the people of the  
town. He saw one group of heavyset men cheering lustily on his left,  
shouting out something about tigers, just behind the mages, and assumed  
them to be the iron-mongers. They, if he again failed in his task, would  
get a healthy commission to build the new doors. He would disappoint  
either them or himself today. He suspected it would be himself.   
  
He stepped towards the first door, pausing before he reached it to  
direct a deep bow toward the watching mages. The door was bound by a  
man, and he tapped lightly with his ki. The bonds fell away, and his ki  
pushed the door open before him. The crowd's roar grew muted as they  
settled in to watch.   
  
He stepped lightly to the second door, an oaken thing. He could sense  
nothing about it, so assumed it had been bound by a woman. This was only  
the second door, so it would not be strong... He reached out, and opened  
the door. It resisted him, but he gave a sharp tug, and it opened. The  
spell cracked the air as it failed, and the door fell to dust, leaving  
him holding the doorknob with a startled expression on his face.  
Laughter swept the crowd, as he tossed the doorknob over his shoulder.  
They could not see his face behind his helm, not from this distance, but  
his posture had left no mistake as to his surprise and startlement.   
  
The next door again gave easily before him. When about the next, a heavy  
wooden door bound with iron bands, he could again feel no magic, he  
guessed they must have decided to simply alternate male and female. He  
decided that he didn't really want the door too near him when it did  
whatever it was going to do, so he stepped back. Remembering Ariana's  
request to put on a good show to keep the city people happy, he allowed  
a blue glow to gather about his hands, then thrust them forward. That  
was just an act, as what he really did was to center himself to the  
construct, and when he thrust his hands forward, he used the Tai Chi  
Chuan to give the door a mighty thrust. It burst from its hinges, flying  
forward to shatter in a flare of crackling energy against the next  
obstacle.   
  
Ranma stepped through. The next door was again one that he could open  
simply, but he had heard the crowd's sigh when he had simply walked  
through as the door opened before him on the last male bound door. Oh,  
well, he decided, if they want a show, I'll give them one.  
  
Again, the crowd watched in awe as a blue glow gathered about his hands,  
only to lance forward in a stream of blue light that struck the door,  
shattering it. He had released the door's bonds before attacking it, so  
there was no backlash.   
  
They followed their pattern, alternating, as he steadily worked his way  
through the doors, to the cheers of the crowds. When he reached Marla's  
door, he gave her a warning glance, to which she nodded, before he  
repeated his previous manuever, smiling as the crowds gasped in awe as  
he tore the heavy iron apart like paper. The cheer that went up from the  
ironmongers was heard over the rest of the crowd, as they shouted with  
one voice, "Tiger Fey!" He shattered the next door with a single punch,  
then stood before the last door.   
  
He tuned the crowd out, as he sought to release the door, touching here  
and there on it, trying to use what he had seen. But it was no use. He  
would not be able to free it that way. Giving up, he heard the crowd  
chanting, "Tiger. Tiger." He decided to give them what they had come to  
see.  
  
He stood before the door, and called up his aura, which licked about him  
like blue flames. He waited as surprise and awe quieted the crowd, then  
focused, and drew on the Neko-ken. His aura became like a half-tiger,  
surrounding him, obscuring him from view with its blue spectral  
appearance. It seemed solid and real, though blue flames still licked  
and rippled across it.   
  
He drew up the threads of magic into himself with more power this time,  
and again, he swelled into the image, becoming the half-man, half-tiger  
creature again. He was taller this time, nearly seven feet. The Dragon  
Armor still hugged his muscular curves, causing many of the watching  
women to feel the heat of desire. Focusing, he drew again on his ki, and  
now blue fire flickered about his form again.   
  
He thought about that for a minute... He had taken on the form of his  
ki, but his ki was still about him. A sudden idea struck him... it would  
be hard, but if he could pull this off, he'd really give them a show. He  
concentrated, and his aura flared up around him, surrounding him  
completely in blue flames. He reached again for the Neko-ken, wondering  
what shape it would take now that he already was a cat. There were gasps  
and mutters around him now, exclamations of awe, as his aura formed into  
a nearly ten foot tall shape, reptilian, with huge wings that lanced out  
from behind him.   
  
He reached again, and pulled up more threads, pouring the magic power  
into this new pool of ki. And again he grew, and changed, becoming  
physically, a ten foot tall scaled dragon-man, with a twenty foot  
wingspan. He stretched his wings, marveling that they actually moved. It  
was one thing to take on the form of a tiger... but he had actually  
given himself a third pair of limbs, and they worked! He realized  
suddenly that this had been a bit foolish. What if the Dragon Armor  
hadn't formed holes for his wings? That could have been quite painful.  
  
He looked over to the mages, a peculiar draconic grin on his face, as  
curls of flame escaped his mouth, and saw the blank, glazed look on  
Alana's face. Suddenly, he felt shamed. In his haste, he had not  
considered what pain it might cause her to see that he could take on a  
draconic form, and she could not. He turned back, determined to get this  
over with quickly, to save her further pain. He didn't realize that her  
look was not glazed with pain, but desire. While the magic was happy to  
let her feel maternal love for the little boy, when she looked upon the  
one she loved and saw a powerful dragon, it returned full force as a  
bestial desire. Her eye's were glazed with hunger, and she was not alone  
in that.  
  
Ranma looked at the doors. He could snap the magic and open them with a  
single punch, he realized. He wondered what the backlash would be  
like... he grinned. His fist slammed into the doors, and they burst  
asunder, as flame gouted upward, enveloping them and him in searing  
flames. He didn't feel the heat of the flames, only the heat of his  
triumph, as the cat and draconic urges he was feeling forced him to lean  
his head back and roar to the heavens in exaltation!  
  
His ki filled draconic roar shook the hall, reverbrating in the excited  
crowd's bones. Even as his roar faded, and the primitive urges he felt  
from the cat and dragon bodies were sated, his shame and failure came  
home to him. He banished the dual forms, and collapsed to his knees,  
crying hot burning tears of shame. Alana, who had leaped down and run  
towards him when he roared, the flames of desire overcoming her, stopped  
suddenly when he became human again, but immediately returned to her  
forward motion, maternal concern now her driving force. She reached him  
just as Ariana did from the other side, and she saw the genuine concern  
in the young woman's face as she looked down on the crying boy.   
  
"We've got to get him out of here. If the iron-mongers or the Masters  
come and try to congratulate him while he's like this, I don't know what  
he'll do," Ariana shouted to be heard over the din of the crowd.  
  
"Help me carry him," Alana replied, "He's heavy with his armor on." She  
reached out to him, then drew back. "Careful, its still hot from those  
flames. We've got to cool him off first." They both cast wind spells  
then, drawing the heat away from his body, until they could lift him  
between them, and spirit him away from the hall.   
  
They brought him to his room. He collapsed into sleep as soon as they  
lay him on his bed, having become only just aware enough to banish the  
Dragon Armor somewhere along the way. They worked quietly together,  
removing his outer clothing, and getting him under the blankets.  
  
Alana and Ariana sat by his bed. Ariana told Alana of finding him and  
comforting him after his seeming success the previous year. Alana, in  
her turn, after making Ariana promise never to tell Ranma, told her of  
his early life, and what had happened to him that prevented him from  
being able to sense feminine magic.   
  
Ariana began to question her about other things Ranma had said, and   
Alana soon found herself telling Ariana the whole story, from the first  
day that Ranma had come to her, and freed her from Fey only to bind her  
to him.  
  
  
  
  



	19. Time Well Spent

Time Well Spent  
  
  
When they returned to the castle, Alana spoke to him about what he had  
done. Under her guidance, he started studying the power, extending on  
it, and coming to understand it. She showed him the traditional ways of  
using magic to change forms.   
  
He found that when transformed using traditional means, most of his  
power was unreachable. He could take on the form of almost any animal,  
but while in the form, about the only magic he could accomplish was to  
allow himself to return to his normal form, or take on a different form.  
He could still access his ki though, and while he could not channel or  
use as much in the smaller forms, he could use his ki claws, and he  
could use the Juushin Jisei Ryuu techniques.  
  
In spite of the disadvantages, he spent time in a number of forms over  
the next year, amongst training with a number of masters, and teaching  
in his dojo.  
  
He became a garden snake, in his own gardens, and learned to slither, to  
move by pressing himself against the ground. He learned to track scents,  
and interpret the information his heat sensitive glands gave him.   
  
He became an adder, and learned how to strike, to coil his body in   
layers of tension, before throwing himself forward with blinding speed  
to sink his fangs into a target, pouring in the venom that would disable  
it.  
  
He took the form of a constricting snake, a boa, and practiced by   
wrapping himself around stone statues and applying pressure until they  
crumbled to dust within his powerful coils. He also learned, in the  
beautiful ten foot body of the boa, to climb trees, and move from tree  
to tree.  
  
A lizard, next, small and lithe. He learned how to focus on his  
environment to get his skin to shift in shade and color, and make  
himself nearly invisible against almost any surface, and how to use his  
claws to race across the ground, and to scale vertical surfaces at  
nearly equal speed.  
  
He entered a pond as a snake first, learning to swim as such, then as a  
fish. He didn't care much for being a fish. Most of the other fish would  
leave a snake alone, but as a fish, he was constantly darting away.   
  
He moved to mammals, and became a ferret. He liked that... it moved much  
like a snake or lizard, but he had more energy, less desire to just sit  
in the sun or shade and do nothing.  
  
Though Ranma didn't really think of himself as a predator, he quickly  
learned that taking predatory forms was the best way to avoid other  
predators, though it didn't always work.  
  
It was during this time that Arkus returned his attention to Ranma.  
Initially he couldn't find Ranma, until rather suddenly a garden snake   
ballooned into a young boy. At first, he was delighted. Ranma was  
putting himself in real danger. With only the most minor of tweaks,  
Arkus should be able to get him near something truly dangerous to  
whatever form he was in, and then, snap, it would all be over. But the  
boy seemed to glance around as if irritated by something, and reach out  
as if to flick it away.   
  
Arkus' mirror proceeded to explode, sending shards of silvered glass  
everywhere. Arkus swore. Obviously the boy had reached a level of  
awareness equal to that of that damned Master, but he was far more  
powerful. Arkus decided that when he recovered and managed to replace  
his mirror, he would have to have a basin installed. Water was much  
safer for scrying on the brat.  
  
Finally, Ranma moved on to birds, and learned to fly. He learned to  
hover as a hummingbird, spent considerable time as a crow learning both  
to fly for long distances, and more importantly, how to behave as part  
of a flock, then moved on to the larger birds of prey, learning to soar,  
and to seek and ride the thermals, the rising columns of air that could  
lift him high into the sky. He also learned to employ the curiously  
disjoint vision of the eagle, the normal sight surrounding a little  
circle of magnified vision. He learned to spot movement on the ground  
far far below him, and enter a dive that would take him straight to that  
point, before snapping back out into a strong upward climb.  
  
His ki forms, on the other hand, were vastly more powerful than the  
traditional forms. He never took dragon form around Alana again, fearing  
to cause her pain, but he studied it, and learned to fly with it. He  
discovered that he could not take just any form with this technique.  
There seemed to be something peculiar specifically about tigers and  
dragons. He supposed this wasn't unexpected, considering the place they  
held in Chinese mythology, symbolizing the yin/yang duality.  
  
Unfortunately for Arkus, Ranma had mastered these mere two forms, and  
moved on with his studies by the time his new mirror was obtained, and a  
basin installed for water based scrying.  
  
The time passed quickly, now that there was no more need to go on long  
journeys. The masters started changing faster, staying with him for only  
two months, then just one month, before telling him that they could  
teach him no more, and moving on.   
  
Between the masters, and with the help of a few of them, Ranma learned  
ot fight in his animal forms, to adapt his art to their capacities, and  
in turn, learned new moves for his normal form based on the natural  
fighting patterns of the animals he became, a process with overall  
reminded him of some of the varieties of Kung Fu he had learned.  
  
---  
  
In his tenth year, Ranma again faced the Mage Tower challenge. This time  
only the Masters and students of the Mage Tower were in attendance.  
Ranma walked easily through the male doors, but focused on using magic  
on the female doors. Instead of using his ki, or his strength to get  
through the female doors, he used his magic to destroy the spells. It  
was an impressive spectacle, but nothing on the scale of what had  
happened his ninth year.   
  
He spent considerable time in front of the last door, and was able to  
weaken the chains, and undo a few knots, and push the doors open using  
only his strength, the Neko-ken, and the Juushin Jisei, not bothering to  
transform. This was enough of a victory that he willingly joined the  
celebration afterward.  
  
Alana, having fewer options now, in terms of skilled masters, or new  
arts, managed to find a theme for the year's masters that greatly  
appealed to Ranma. These were masters of martial arts based on various  
extremes, mostly extreme natural environments, and they took advantage  
of his powers, to have him bring them to remote places, to train in  
those extreme conditions.   
  
This also marked a year of constant activity on the part of Arkus,  
though indirectly. He had successfully summoned a powerful demon. To  
avoid the restrictions his Lady had placed on him, and delighting in the  
appropriateness of the boy's choice of training regimens, he summoned a  
demon capable of summoning elementals, spirits from planes of elemental  
extremes, and binding them to natural elements, and set him to torment  
the boy, and destroy him if possible.   
  
---  
  
Ranma sat in lotus position before a large basin of water, across from  
Master Tufi, a small man with a long blue beard, and blue hairs, and a  
constant aura of cold about him. Master Tufi was peering into the water,  
and describing his requirements, as Ranma guided the view, searching for  
a location that would fit the needs of this Master of Winter-Elemental  
Martial Arts.  
  
"Mountains are good, yes, but what I am really looking for, young  
teishi, is a good glacier..."  
  
"What is a glacier, sensei? I am unfamiliar with the term," replied  
Ranma, momentarily releasing his control of the scry, so that the view  
stilled.   
  
"A massive sheet of ice, teishi, sometimes a mile or more thick. Look  
for a more northern range of mountains, rather than a mountain alone,  
and perhaps we'll find one."  
  
Ranma nodded, and resumed his concentration, as the view in the scry  
blurred and stilled in a constant cycle, as the search continued.  
Finally, it settled on the edge of what looked like a thick crinkled  
wall of ice. "Is that a glacier, sensei?"  
  
"Yes, very good, teishi. Now, find a cave in the mountainside near the  
upper rim of the glacier somewhere."  
  
Master Tufi was grateful for long experience in schooling his  
expressions, when a few minutes later, after locating a cave meeting  
Tufi's requirements, Ranma casually opened a doorway leading onto the  
sheet of ice. Ranma hefted both packs, his own and the Master's, and  
Tufi led the way through the opening, out onto the sheet of ice.   
  
Ranma covered his eyes, startled at the dazzling white glare. Tufi spun  
to face him, eyes glinting with amusement. "You'll get used to it,  
teishi... or go blind."  
  
Ranma nodded in acknowledgment, and slowly pulled his hands away,  
allowing his eyes to adjust. Tufi motioned toward the cave. "Come on  
teishi, we'll set up camp first."  
  
Ranma dismissed the doorway, and followed the small man. As he did so,  
he focused his sixth sense, observing the ki flows in the older man,  
trying to see what he was doing to adapt to the cold environment.   
  
As they set up the tents within the protective enclosure of the cave,  
after Ranma assured Tufi that he could sense no sources of ki in the  
unlit depths, Ranma focused on attempting to mimic the ki flows, as well  
as trying to guess the purpose behind them.   
  
When Tufi led him back out onto the glacier to begin the lecture, Ranma  
felt he was already well on his way. He had managed to mimic some of the  
flows, and noted that his feet no longer felt cold. It was not that they  
were warm, for if anything, even less heat was escaping to melt the ice  
on which he walked, rather, it was as if the ki flows were preventing  
the escape of the heat.   
  
Tufi turned to face him. "Now, teishi, you will need a strong control of  
your ki for this. What you must do..." He broke off, looking closer at  
the boy, then laughed aloud. "Well, I see the Lady was right. You are  
indeed a prodigy... I see you have already begun to get the idea. Very  
well, teishi, start a simple kata, and I will instruct you as you do  
so."  
  
When Ranma nodded and began one of his simpler katas, one which did not  
involve any of the aerial aspects of his school, Master Tufi continued.  
"What you must do is use your aura to prevent the escape of heat from  
your body. Most people when trying to deal with the cold, try to shield  
against it, in some way, or increase their own heat. This is the way of  
foolishness, teishi. The way of wisdom, is to recognize that cold is the  
absence of heat, and that it is the flow of your heat into the chill  
that surrounds you that causes you to feel cold, not the cold invading  
from outside. Seek not to prevent the cold's entrance, but to prevent  
your heat's exit, and you will succeed."  
  
Tufi watched, and made occasional comments, as Ranma sought to perfect  
the technique. Whenever he erred, he could almost feel the heat rushing  
to leave him, and several times he slipped when an accidental wave of  
heat through his feet melted the ice below.  
  
Tufi was considering the next step in the training, when the demon  
summoned by Arkus acted. It summoned an air elemental, and sent it to  
attack Ranma.  
  
Ranma felt a tingling, and got a sense of approaching danger, but saw  
nothing to concern him, up to the very moment that what felt like a  
massive and powerful fist slammed into his chest, sending him rocketing  
across the ice to slam into the rocks by the side of the cave.   
  
He rose unsteadily to his feet, and extended his senses to get his  
bearings. He sensed no attacker, no ki, even as he was hit with a  
powerful uppercut, that sent him twenty feet into the air, and slamming  
back onto the ice, cracking it where he hit.   
  
This one was more expected though, and he had had time to focus his ki  
into his limbs, and so was able to leap directly to his feet. Invoking  
his mage sight, he looked about him again, and this time he was able to  
make out the movements of the indistinct figure in the air.   
  
Tufi was moving quickly towards the wall, away from the fight, unable to  
sense what was attacking his student, but not yet willing to intervene.  
  
Ranma tensed as it approached, then fired a three-punch combination that  
led into a spin-kick. He hit nothing, and in the middle of the kick  
received a blow to the leg that increased his rate of spin, nearly  
causing him to lose his balance completely. He recovered, and focused  
again until he could once more perceive his attackers approximate  
location.   
  
Remembering the dragon form's peculiar ability to see air currents, he  
focused the Neko-ken, and drew up the magic into himself, swelling into  
his tiger form, then past it into his half-dragon form. The first thing  
he noticed was that he was suffering no heat loss, though he had been  
forced to allow that flow of ki to lapse to summon the Neko-ken.   
  
Not questioning his good fortune, he eyed the enemy, and was shocked to  
see that it seemed in fact to be composed of air currents. He had  
expected to perceive it by the air it displaced, not to discover that it  
was air itself.  
  
Grinning, he thought of a technique that would probably have an impact,  
and when it approached again, its fist driving forward, he punched as  
fast as he could, cracking the air, and sending a series of compressed  
shockwaves through the air towards the creature. Indeed, its advance  
halted, and it writhed, as if in pain, then rose up, coming down towards  
him from above.  
  
He dove out of the way, and as he rolled, he released the Neko-ken,  
banishing the dragon form. Useful as the sight was, if the dragon form  
was immune to the cold, he would not be learning what he needed to learn  
here by fighting in it. He leapt back to his feet, and wove a quick  
skein of magic to give himself dragon sight in his natural form.  
  
He focused on it again, just in time to receive a heavy blow to the  
face, followed by a strike to the chest that slammed him into the large  
slabs of rock that jutted up through a portion of the glacier, which  
actually were the tip of a rocky spire the glacier had flowed around.  
  
He felt a chill creeping into his limbs, and groaned as he rose,  
realizing that he had neglected, on releasing the transformation, to  
reinstate the protective ki flows. He did so, but still felt cold.  
Realizing that he had lost too much body heat, he focused on pulling  
heat from the air, to replace what he'd lost. After all, if his heat had  
escaped into the air, then there must be heat there to be regained, he  
decided.  
  
The air elemental, irritated that this mortal shrugged off its powerful  
blows, began stirring the air, creating a vortex that drew up snow off  
the surface of the ice, creating a visible white funnel, then directed  
it at the mortal.  
  
Ranma was distracted from his concentration on the ki technique  
necessary to regain his body heat when he was suddenly surrounded by  
swirling ice crystals. Contrary to the air elemental's intent, the  
driving snow did not draw any heat from Ranma, for his protective  
Tainetsu Hoon Shiirudo, or Body Heat Insulating Shield, was still  
active.   
  
It did serve to confuse his senses. With the swirling air all about him,  
he could not detect the elemental... but nor could it attack him, for  
though it could form the funnel easily enough, it had no desire to fight  
through it.  
  
Ranma stumbled forward, but the funnel remained with him. An idea hit  
him, and he shouted, "Juushin Jisei Senpuu!," as he used the Juushin  
Jisei techniques to spin his body about his own center of gravity in the  
opposite direction of the funnel. His body blurred into the tight spin,  
countering the force of the wind, and negating the funnel. When he  
released the spin, the snow had all fallen about him, in a tight circle,  
and he could see the air elemental coming towards him.  
  
Deciding the technique might work as well on a creature of air, as on  
the air itself, when it approached, he shouted again "Juushin Jisei  
Nekki Senpuu!" He flared his ki aura as he spun this time, to provide  
the Nekki, or Hot Air, portion of the whirlwind. The air spun about him,  
and as it picked up his heat, it began to melt the ice beneath him,  
drawing it up as water, that froze again into snow as it reached the  
upper regions of the swirling wind.   
  
All the watchers, Ranma included, were surprised at the result. Given  
the intense cold of the air around, the rising hot air from around Ranma  
cooled quickly, and fell again to the outside of the rising hot air, to  
be sucked in again at the bottom. The effect was more of a horizontal  
convection cell than a whirlwind, a cell that was watery in the  
interior, and swirled with snow at the outer edges, while the center air  
around Ranma, when he stilled, was calm. The air elemental was trapped  
in the cell, spun about and torn by the snow and water. Intruiged, Ranma  
studied the flow of air with his dragon sight, and began flaring his  
aura again, as he recognized that the mass of air would continue its  
behavior as long as it had a heat source in the center.  
  
He continued to flare his aura until the air elemental disappeared from  
within the cell. He switched, immediately to the new technique he had  
been trying to use just before the elemental had attacked again, what he  
was thinking of as the Hainetsu Kyuuin, or Waste Heat Absorption move.  
With his ki built up, he found the missing link in his attempt, and in a  
mere instant, the heat from around him was sucked in.   
  
He was not ready for the speed of the technique, as he had been focusing  
a greater amount of ki to try and get it to work. When he finally hit  
the right focus, that mass of ki acted much more quickly than he was  
expecting, and he felt a great rush of heat through him, and fainted  
from the exertion, not even noticing the peculiar half-torus of ice with  
which he was now surrounded.  
  
Master Tufi managed to pull Ranma from the center of the partial torus,  
and drag him into the cave. He was disturbed to note that the boy had a  
fever, but remembering what the Lady Alana had told him of the youth's  
healing abilities, decided not to overreact. He simply sat by the boy,  
feeling his forehead occasionally, waiting for him to awaken.  
  
He was surprised when after only an hour, the fever broke, and Ranma's  
temperature returned quickly to normal. The boy woke soon after, sitting  
up slowly.  
  
"That was most impressive, teishi. That was indeed the next technique I  
had intended to demonstrate to you, but you must be careful with it.  
You should draw the heat in much more slowly than you did, lest it  
overcome you."  
  
"Yeah," groaned Ranma, holding his head, "I kinda noticed. I didn't  
really mean to..."  
  
"Yes, I suspected as much. Rather like a tug-of-war, pulling as hard as  
you could, and when the rope suddenly came loose, you fell hard, hmm?  
Anyway, once you learn to draw the heat in, then you can both use it to  
prevent your own loss of heat, and to recover heat that you've already  
lost before starting the technique. More important, of course, is the  
ability to use the gathered heat to attack."  
  
The conversation continued as they ate the dinner Tufi had prepared  
during Ranma's unconsciousness.  
  
"Attacking your opponent with heat is one way, though of course, if  
they're good enough, they'll have no problem absorbing, deflecting, or  
dissipating the heat. More valuable sometimes, is using the heat to  
attack the environment."  
  
"What do you mean, sensei? Why would I attack the environment?"  
  
"Well, for example, if you were fighting someone on the ice, you could  
send a wash of heat at ground level where the enemy was standing, or  
about to land. If you're quick enough... well, I once saw a fight where  
one participant managed to melt the ice they were on enough that the  
second landed in it up to his waist, then pull the heat back out before  
the he was able to react, leaving him encased to his waist in a block of  
ice."  
  
"Then too, that technique you demonstrated a short while ago used heat  
to fuel the air, didn't it? You generated that heat from your battle  
aura, as far as I could tell, but if you had collected the heat already,  
you could have simply used it as fuel, rather than expending so much  
ki."  
  
---  
  
His next master took him to a desert. The first time he tried a kata on  
a sand dune as his master instructed, his first leap sent him two feet  
into the sand when he landed, causing a sandfall along the side of the  
dune, and burying him to his neck, in the end. He had been able to lift  
himself out with the Tai Chi Chuan, but his master wouldn't let him use  
his Tai Chi extension to the Musabetso Kakuto Ryuu to avoid actually  
landing on the sand. Instead, he forced him to learn to land on the  
sand, without disturbing a single grain.  
  
Once he had learned this, the same master suddenly had him take them to  
a lake, where he showed Ranma that the same technique would allow him to  
fight over the water. Ranma would land lightly and leap again  
immediately. Eventually, he was able to do this while leaving only the  
tiniest of ripples to spread behind him, and cross the whole lake  
without getting wet.  
  
It proceeded like this for most of the year, as he got used to fighting  
under all sorts of strange conditions, including fighting a running  
battle along a knife-edged ridge near the peak of a mountain, and  
another aerial battle over a field of pikes driven into the ground,  
point spearing upwards. He learned to fight while balanced on a live  
bamboo as the master caused it to sway beneath him, and similarly on a  
rope crossing a thousand foot deep gorge over jagged rocks. He fought on  
the side of a volcano, as superheated jets of steam roared up from  
fumaroles, and lava oozed about them. He chased mountain goats across  
rocky crags, and learned to fight underwater, while avoiding sharks and  
barracuda. He even spent time fighting one master on slick rocks covered  
with damp stringy mosses over deep still waters while the master flung  
rocks into the beehives that riddled the rocky walls about them.  
  
Arkus found his life extremely frustrating, as the boy was put in one  
hazardous, even deadly, situation after another, and survived each. But  
the boy was nearly always completely alone, with no one but the master,  
and sometimes Alana, near him. No one on whom he could bring his  
influence to bear, while the elementals the demon summoned just seemed  
to be treated as part of the boy's training.  
  
---  
  
For most of his eleventh year, Alana brought in ki masters, and  
he learned to do ever more complex things with his ki, including  
starting fires, concealing his presence, moving through solid objects  
without disturbing them, and infusing any ordinary item, from a fan, to  
a piece of cloth, to silverware, with ki, making it a deadly weapon.  
  
He also learned pure ki attacks, though he never found it necessary to  
do the shouting that the masters used. He learned how to use his  
dominant emotions to fuel ki attacks, increasing their power, ranging  
from his confidence in himself to his depression over his inability to  
free the Lady. He also learned how to counter ki attacks, to draw the ki  
from inanimate objects used against him, and how to use minor amounts of  
ki to counteract much larger attacks.  
  
Then they went deeper, and he learned to control the movement of his ki,  
even after it had left him. He also learned to generate pure ki attacks  
without the crutch of emotion, and to control their nature, so that he  
could have them affect only inanimate objects, only animate objects,  
deal a crushing blow, explode in flame, or slice through objects like  
knives. Ranma found it particularly interesting that while it took more  
willpower and concentration to use pure ki, it was less draining, and  
could be used for longer periods of time with less strain than emotion  
fueled ki. Later masters taught him to draw ki from his surroundings to  
fuel his blasts.  
  
Again, he came closer than the year before to releasing the doors  
without destroying them, though still not close enough.   
  
Arkus was even more annoyed this year than the year before, as nearly  
every master that came along noticed his attempts to observe. One caused  
his pool to fill with ink, another caused it to boil, giving Arkus  
severe burns. At least once, it was the boy who noticed it, and reacted,  
causing the waters to flash instantly to steam, turning his scrying room  
into a sauna. Arkus was really infuriated by that one, because somehow  
the steam caused bubbles to appear in his mirror's silver lining,  
ruining it yet again. Arkus stopped watching in disgust. It would be  
some time before he returned to the boy. He was often busy with his  
Lady's work, anyway.  
  
---  
  
As his twelfth year approached, Alana seemed to be having more  
difficulty finding masters who could train him. Shortly after his  
birthday, he reluctantly agreed to take on other sorts of teachers.  
  
Some consolation came when that year, he was invited to seal a portal.  
He spent considerable time on it, focusing equally on sealing the  
doorway, and on resisting any attempts to negate the spell, while hiding  
its weak point deep within a web of tricky twists that would turn aside  
force brought from most angles. They tested his door for strength, and  
it was placed in the second to last position, a signal honor.  
  
The rest of the year was spent learning rather peculiar things. He spent  
several months learning various styles of martial arts cooking. One of  
the strangest of these was the Art of Pastries, taught to him by a  
Frenchman with a ridiculously large nose. Watching this man whip up a  
quick batch of thick icing, throw a heavy glob of it in his air, then  
slash at it with a heavy knife, his arm a blur, only to have a perfectly  
formed rose land on the cake, was a real marvel. Many of the finer  
pastries were formed of innumerable delicate layers, resembling sushi.  
This semblance was further brought to home when the next master was the  
master of Silent Sushi, not to mention a ninja.   
  
Several months were then spent under a single master, who taught him to  
play a number of instruments in the heat of battle. He showed him how to  
infuse them with ki to prevent their taking harm, and make them useful  
as weapons... a ki-filled violin makes an excellent bow, as long as you  
have multiple bows handy, a curious attribute... as well as how to  
infuse the notes themselves with ki, to carry his emotions on them.   
  
He was taught to use this as a weapon, to bring an enemy to tears, or to  
rally the spirit of his troops while striking fear into their enemies.  
He found it could even carry the ki healing technique he had learned in  
the Neko-ken retraining he had undergone with Sylie, radiating healing  
power controlled by his music.   
  
He could enter the garden, and control which plants were in bloom by the  
tones of his music, or make the blossoms of a rose plant open and close  
individually, each in tune with a single note.  
  
He was also introduced to the power of the vibrations produced by some  
instruments. He learned how to perceive the resonance frequency of a  
physical object, much as he had learned to find their weak point, and  
how to sustain that resonant tone on any instrument until the object  
destroyed itself.  
  
He also learned, with his master's guidance, though it was new to the  
master as well, to use the power of the Juushin Jisei to play  
instruments without touching them. Having accomplished this, he was   
encouraged to focus and meditate until he could play several instruments  
at once.   
  
Once he finally got the hang of playing the multiple instruments, he  
quickly improved in his facility with them, and by the time his master  
left, he could play on at least one of every instrument in a modern  
orchestra in a way that would make any conductor proud, while himself  
standing and doing the conducting.  
  
After the master had left, he had taken nearly a month off of that  
schedule, and worked with the Tai Chi Chuan eleventh dan, the Juushin  
Jisei, exclusively. Having realized its power through the demonstration  
he had given, he managed several more feats with it. He managed to cause  
the air to vibrate, to produce sound. Eventually he could reproduce the  
sounds of most of his instruments, without needing the instrument, a  
technique he termed the Genshindou Gakki Gihou, or Fundamental Vibration  
Musical Instrument Technique.  
  
He also managed to get used to handling multiple weapons with the  
Juushin Jisei, until he reached the point that he could spar against  
five non-existent opponents, each wielding a different weapon.  
  
Shortly thereafter, he realized that he had been steadily increasing  
his effective weight for years on end, and consistently tying up a  
larger and larger amount of ki in holding that weight.  
  
He took his leave of the Lady, temporarily, and went to a desert, far  
from any cities. There, he began to slowly ease off on the weight.  
Almost instantly, his aura bloomed in size and power, and he found that  
he had to stop, and bring it back under control. By the time he finished  
releasing the Juushin Jisei Juuryoku's hold on himself, he realized that  
his ki reserves were unbelievably huge. Nonetheless, he was able to  
conceal them.   
  
As soon as he began a kata, he discovered that he actually had to  
concentrate in order to move slower than the speed at which he cracked  
the air. Further, he had to concentrate in order to remain on the  
ground. If he thought of other things for but a moment, he would look  
down, and find himself floating above the ground. A mild flexing of the  
leg muscles, and he would be hundreds of feet in the air.   
  
He spent some time learning to fly like this, and found that he indeed  
preferred it to flying with the Juushin Jisei. It seemed more natural,  
and took less concentration.   
  
Before returning to the castle, he reengaged the Juuryoku, and  
weighed himself down until his available ki reserves were once again as  
they had been before he had released the Juushin Jisei Juuryoku.  
  
---  
  
The next competition at the Mages Tower saw Ranma's door as the most  
powerful holding spell in the challenge, surpassing for the first time,  
the combined masterwork of two of the most powerful Mages of the Tower.  
Though he still failed to open their door without damaging it, he came  
much closer.  
  
Ranma was in his room, waiting for Alana to return, so that they could  
go home, and begin his training again, though he truly had no idea what  
was left to learn, when someone knocked at his door.  
  
"Enter," he said, and the door opened, and Ariana stepped in.  
  
"Ranma, they want you in the Council Hall. Alana is there already. She  
said to wear the Dragon Armor, now hurry, come on, I'll show you the  
way." He nodded, and focused, reaching out to the castle with his ki,   
until he found the Dragon Fang, where he had carefully stored it. He  
gently released the wards and seals he had protected it with, then  
called it to him, and summoned the armor. He gestured for her to lead,  
then.  
  
She led him quickly down the halls, deep within the complex, to the base  
of the central tower, where they came upon heavy iron doors. The doors  
were already being opened by a guard, who was standing to their right,  
turning a large wheel with heavy thrusts. As it turned, it ratcheted  
against a lever in the floor, and the doors shifted slightly further  
apart. Within moments, they were in the hall, and the doors swung shut  
with a loud ringing sound behind them.   
  
Ranma stepped forward, looking resplendent in his armor, and saw with  
surprise that Mardo was no longer sitting at the head of the U shaped  
council table. He had moved to the right, and Alana stood behind the  
pulled out central chair. As Ranma moved forward, Mardo stood suddenly.  
Ranma stopped, as Mardo bowed to him. He was confused, and worried. The  
rest of the assembled Masters then rose as well, and bowed, and then all  
said as one, "Hail, ArchMage."  
  
"Huh? What?" Ranma was flustered. What were they talking about? Mardo  
was the ArchMage, and had been for years. Ariana was at his elbow then,  
guiding him around the table to where Alana held the chair out for him.  
They pushed him to sit in it, then pushed his chair forward. Ranma just  
sat there, looking stunned, until the mages cheered suddenly.  
  
"Come now, Ranma, no false modesty. You've earned your place," Mardo  
said to him, grinning.   
  
Ranma remained a bit dazed, as the new realities of his position were  
explained to him. As the ArchMage of the Mage Towers, he held a rank of  
Lord in all of the Five Kingdoms, second only to their Kings. Quite  
nearly the position of influence that the old Lord Fey had sought by  
force, but Ranma had earned it, and it was freely given.  
  
---  
  
Ranma spent most of the next six months with Mardo, learning his new  
duties, and meeting the other Kings, and the various Lords. He learned a  
lot about weather magic, and how the ArchMages had protected the Five  
Kingdoms against hurricanes, tornadoes, and other such disasters. He  
also learned how to lead and guide other mages in casting. He found  
that even though he could not see their spells, the female mages had no  
difficulty following his lead, for nothing hid his power or spells from  
them.  
  
Arkus meanwhile spent countless hours raging at the terrible injustice  
of the universe. To be thus handed the position Lord Fey had so often  
sought to take by force... it was humiliating.  
  
Ranma also learned how to act at court, how to deflect flirtatious   
ladies, enamored of his power but uncaring about him, how to avoid   
giving the useless, foppish, hereditary young lordlings any offense that  
could be misconstrued into a reason for a duel, how to dress properly  
for the court, how to eat properly in noble company, and numerous other  
things. He found himself wishing dearly for more martial arts lessons,  
even cooking or singing, until he discovered painting.  
  
Cooking was considered demeaning, and the nobles detested it, and  
singing or playing instruments meant constantly being invited to perform  
here or there. Painting, on the other hand, was a solitary thing, though  
he would have to avoid those females who wanted to be... immortalized.  
  
Alana found him a tutor, grateful that he had found something to occupy  
his time while he learned what was necessary. He learned quickly, and  
found himself quite skilled at it. Wielding a brush was not that  
different, he found, from wielding a sword, and a little ki in the paint  
gave his art a vibrancy and life to it that was unmatched.  
  
Alana found herself more than glad he had found something to learn, when  
he gave her a beautiful painting of her sister. It showed her as a  
human, reclining cradled in the paws of her as a dragon, coiled about  
the canvas, one arm delicately resting on the back of the head of her as  
a panther, with her castle as a backdrop. It was beautiful, and perfect  
in every detail, and made her realize how impressive his memory really  
was.   
  
When they finally returned home, Ranma decided that this was an area  
that he could explore further, since Alana was finding that locating  
masters who could train him was getting progressively more difficult.   
  
He went from quarry to quarry, carving out stone for his own use, paying  
the foreman on site, and carrying the huge blocks of stone off on his  
own back, much to their shock and surprise. With this stone, he began to  
teach himself to sculpt. At first, he used tools, as the books in the  
library suggested, but after a while, he switched to using a simpler,  
more effective technique.   
  
He would use his ki claws to carve, and sculpt the images. Then, when it  
was carved, he would use his Juushin Jisei techniques to send sand  
swirling against it, polishing it to a high gleam.   
  
---  
  
Shortly after his fourteenth birthday, Ranma grew tired of sculpting. He  
had moved beyond simply stone sculptures, to using his ki and the  
Juushin Jisei to coat them with metals, then cut and rebond them, to  
form metal sculptures, and eventually to using his ki to heat and  
protect his hands, so that he could work with silver and gold as if it  
were putty, but he was ready to move on.  
  
Considering, he finally hit upon something that would be well worth  
learning, that was close to the martial arts, and could be made into an  
art form, not to mention being an opportunity to extend his magical  
abilities.   
  
Alana found masters to train him, and so Ranma took up the art of  
weaponsmithing. He learned the wood based arts first, the art of spear  
straightening, of fletching and bow-making. From there he progressed to  
the metals, learning how to purify them, mix them, hammer and form them.  
  
He focused on Japanese style weapons, though he learned a few other  
styles as well.   
  
The masters who taught him were all impressed by his skill and strength,  
and the speed of his learning. But all were more impressed, at least at  
first, with the fact that he heated the metal with his own hands, to the  
point of holding ingots in his hands until the metal melted through his  
fingers to flow into the mold.   
  
Then there was his remarkable ability to use the seventh sense to sense  
impurities in the metal, and to use the Juushin Jisei to remove them  
from the mix even as it flowed through his fingers. Not once did any of  
his masters have to show him how to deal with flawed metal. They never  
encountered any.   
  
Dragon Fang became a golden forge hammer, and pounded weapon after  
weapon, as Ranma mastered the art of folding metal to make katanas and  
other blades.  
  
Finally, a master came, who when he was finished teaching Ranma, had  
sighed, and said, "Well, boy, I've taught you all I can with what we  
have. It's too bad there are no more dragons, though. I would dearly  
have liked to have passed on the art of making weapons from dragon scale  
before I died, and I would have been proud to teach it to you."  
  
He was quite perturbed when Ranma vanished from in front of him, and  
spent some time puttering about looking for him, when Ranma returned,  
holding a single scale as big as he himself was. "You mean like this?"  
he asked. The old man gaped at him for a long minute, then a single tear  
rolled down one cheek.   
  
"How... how did you..." he sputtered. Dragons were dead and gone, and  
dragon scale unobtainable.  
  
"I asked the Lady's sister, and she gave me one of her scales. She's  
really nice once you get to know her."  
  
"One of her scales? She's a dragon?!?"  
  
"Yup. Now are you going to show me how to work this, or what?"  
  
So was forged Ranma's final masterwork. He remembered the one thing his  
father had mentioned about his mother... her katana. Genma had shivered  
every time he had said it, but it was the only thing Ranma could really  
remember about her.   
  
When the old man said that only dragon breath was hot enough to melt  
dragon scale, Ranma nearly gave the man a heart attack by promptly   
taking his half dragon form, placing the scale in a large stone  
container, and melting it with his breath. "Hmmph, I guess you're  
right." His voice in this form was much deeper, and seemed to carry its  
own echoes.  
  
At the master's rather timid suggestion, Ranma retained the dragon form  
as he beat the cooled scale into a sword. To the master's astonishment,  
Ranma proceeded to beat the sword continuously for a week, never  
stopping. Ranma himself was surprised at his own stamina. The final  
blade had been folded exactly forty thousand times, by Ranma's count,  
and it was a thing of beauty. The old man helped Ranma forge a portion  
of the remaining scale into a proper hilt.   
  
Not knowing what else to do with the remaining scale, Ranma proceeded to  
make a matching wakizashi, only this time, he studied the Dragon Fang  
first, and tried to match the weave of its magic within the new blade as  
he hammered it.  
  
When it was finished, it would indeed take the forms that Dragon Fang  
could, though it held always a metallic deep blue appearance.   
  
---  
  
In his fifteenth year, he proceeded to the next obvious step, and took  
up the art of armor-smithing. He started with leather, learning to work  
it, boiled and hardened, or still pliable and filled with metal studs.  
  
He learned to make simple metal strips, and punch holes through them and  
sew them together on a backing of leather to form both splinted and  
banded mail.   
  
He learned to make chain mail, to force metal through successively  
smaller holes until he had a long thin bar, then hammer it around a  
solid but thin round metal post, before cutting it off into rings, and  
linking them together in a weave.  
  
Then he learned to make plate. He spent much time here just studying the  
different varieties. He had to learn what all the pieces were, how they  
fit together, and how they were connected to allow proper movement.  
  
He also had to learn how to properly measure the person they were being  
fitted for, to properly size each piece, to insure a proper fit that  
wouldn't chafe.   
  
He had to learn all of this for each of the varieties, for partial  
plate, field plate, full plate, and so forth. He also learned how to  
make a variety of styles of each, and then how to make helms in a wide  
variety of styles.   
  
Finally he practiced on his dojo's masters, and his bodyguard, making  
for each a customized suit of armor. He found as he prepared for this,  
that by a proper infusion of ki at the right point, the armor could be  
made to carry some of its own weight, making it seem light and easy to  
work with.  
  
Again he finished out the year with a masterwork, a work of dragonscale.  
His dragonscale armor was full body, made for the Lord Roga, whom he  
invited to come and live at the castle while it was being crafted for  
him.  
  
  
  
  



	20. Culmination

Culmination  
  
  
Early in his sixteenth year, Ranma came to the decision that it was time  
to try and free the Lady Alana. He told her not to invite the next  
Master. He was going to need the next three months... She acquiesced,  
though he did not tell her why he wanted this. The rest of that day he  
spent wandering amongst the halls, looking for the right place to do  
this. Finally, he selected a room. It was deep in the castle, it could  
be readily warded from scrying, and it was large enough to hold the Lady  
Sylie. He hoped that Alana would not be much larger, though it would be  
able to handle some difference.   
  
That night, at dinner, he was silent, responding in mono-syllables.  
Though unresponsive, he was not unattentive. In fact, he spent most of  
the meal staring at the Lady Alana, his eyes flickering with blue fire.  
She guessed what he was about, and did not press him about it. He was  
examining her chains, looking more closely than before, trying to follow  
the courses of the threads, and predict where the other threads would  
need to be, to complete the pattern. He was still wholly unable to see  
the other threads, but he had some reason for hope.  
  
The next morning, he spent several hours in the study, sketching the  
bonds from memory, and then drawing possibilities for the feminine bonds  
on thin onion-skin sheets, laying them over the male bonds, trying to  
guess the best match. When he could remember no more he went to the  
gardens, and practiced a kata to clear his mind, and prepare himself. He  
noticed once again the small, low-walled garden, that held only a single  
column, on which sat a single vase, in which rested a pure white rose, a  
promise still unfulfilled.  
  
Filled with resolve, he went to the room, and spent several hours  
cleaning it, removing all foreign materials. He scrubbed the stones, and  
then used his ki to create a wind that dried the room quickly. Then,  
locking the iron door securely, he sat in the center of the room, in  
lotus position, and released his hold on his aura.   
  
It swelled, and filled the room with a blue glow. He relaxed his seventh  
sense, and focused on the sixth. He reached outward with this sense, and  
whereever he came upon life, he held it with his ki, and using a single  
thread of magic, moved it to the outside of the room. If it was too  
small to thus grasp, he focused his ki, and burned it out.   
  
He relaxed his sixth sense then, and focused his seventh. He focused on  
the small holes and pores in the stones, and filled them with his aura,  
until it truly filled all the room, down to the smallest crack. Then he  
focused, found his center, and began meditating. He meditated for five  
hours, letting the rock bathe in his ki, becoming steadily more attuned  
to him. Then he stood, and still bathing the room in his ki, he used his  
ki claws to carefully care glyphs of warding and protection into the  
stones, one after another.  
  
He began selecting the purer stones, and put glyphs of power on them.  
Over the next several weeks, he would steadily charge them, that when  
necessary, he might release their power to replenish his own.   
  
That evening, he again watched the Lady Alana with his ki gaze from the  
moment she entered the room. This time, he did not proceed to his bed,  
but went directly to his study, where he again drew the chains from  
memory. He did not look at the previous drawings he had done, at all,  
nor did he try to draw the possible female chains. That would wait until  
the morning. Finally, he went to his bed, exhausted, and slept a   
dreamless sleep.  
  
The Lady struggled, as she tried to get to sleep. She was striving to  
fight her growing feeling of hope. She knew he could not free her. He  
could not see the female principle still, she knew that. But he knew  
that too, and yet he was still determined to try. She had heard from  
Mardo and Liliana. He had opened the door, finally, without destroying  
it. He had become the cat again, just to be able to let out the roar of  
triumph, but that power had not been necessary. It was hard to hold on  
to her hope, but she knew that she had to. When he failed, he would be  
crushed, and if she too were crushed under a weight of disappointment,  
she would not be able to support him. So she focused on the fact that  
he had watched them cast the door. It must have made the difference.  
  
When she finally slept, though, she dreamed again of flying as a  
dragon, only this time, Ranma was with her, a dragon himself, flying  
about her as if born to it. She felt again, in the dream, the ache of  
wanting him, so long buried under maternal love, but she recognized it  
for what it was, even in the dream, and it did not trouble her.  
  
The next morning, Ranma again spent several hours working on his  
drawings of the chains, trying to picture where the strands and threads  
of invisible magic would need to go to have the appropriate effect. When  
he again went to the garden, to practice his katas and clear his mind,  
he noticed that the Lady was on a balcony above, watching him.  
  
He smiled to himself as he powered through the motions of the kata. He  
knew that she knew why he was behaving as he was, and he admired her for  
remaining silent about it, and allowing him to proceed in his own  
fashion. She was so unlike the teachers at the Mage Towers. She never  
tried to force him to learn theories that might or might not be anything  
like the truth. She merely urged him to learn what he needed to know,  
and he had quickly come to respect that in her. Everything she had  
pushed him to learn, had come to have importance to him shortly  
thereafter, in sharp contrast to the theories of the Mages of the  
Towers. He had done his best to forget much of what they had sought to  
teach him.   
  
He knew that she did not believe he yet had the power to free her. He  
knew she was wrong in that. He did have the power... he just wasn't  
certain of being able to use it without harming her. He was no more  
sanguine than she about his ability to succeed in this. It was founded  
on hope, the hope that once he began, and after having seen for himself  
the innumerable ways that the feminine principle could be wound about  
the male threads he could see in her chains, he would be able to find  
the true weaknesses. It was doubtful, but he had to try.  
  
For nine years this coming event had been the single overriding goal of  
his life. Everything he had done and learned had been focused towards  
this day. He would pour everything he had into freeing her, and if it  
killed him... well, then she would be free, and he would have achieved  
his goal. He hoped it wouldn't come to that, but he knew now that he  
would not hold back from it. He would give absolutely everything he had,  
and more, if it meant her freedom.  
  
He completed his kata, and returned to the inner room. There, he spent  
two hours charging the first of the power seals, pouring his ki into  
the spiritual battery in a slow steady trickle. Then he meditated again,  
bathing the room in his ki. With his ki penetrating the stone that held  
his power bound within it, it felt like he was holding a glowing ember  
in his hand, and he welcomed the pain of holding that concentrated  
power. He knew he would feel pain when he reabsorbed the power, and he  
wanted to be ready for it.  
  
He went around to each power stone, and carved into each four runes of  
strength, to prevent the power one held, that shortly all would hold,  
from overcoming their structure and destroying them before he could use  
them. This took considerable time, as he had to draw up the magic and  
bind it into each rune after drawing it.   
  
Finally, he spent time on each of the scrying stones, carving in smaller  
runes to strengthen each individual stone against one particular variety  
of scrying. One he bound with a rune to strengthen it against the use of  
water, the bowls and pools that were the delight of some. To another he  
added a rune to strengthen it against the use of mirrors, the province  
of the truly strong. Another he bound against crystals, yet another  
against the power of the mind. So he went, to each in turn, and added a  
strengthening rune, drawing up the threads of magic to power each.  
  
He left the room, locking the iron door behind him, and binding it, as  
he had done the two days before, and would each day after, with a  
powerful spell of holding, modeled after the work of Mardo, and a spell  
of warding and shielding.   
  
The uses of iron in magic were among the few things he had learned in  
the Mage Towers that he had retained. He had learned how iron was  
anathema to channeled magic, where the magic-user drew on the power the  
threads held, and used his body as a conduit for that pure power, rather  
than using the threads themselves. He had learned how to use iron to  
combat true spells, though to do so was often to destroy everything  
around them, as well as the spell. He had also learned the proper ways  
to truly enchant iron, to bind the threads into it, and how much power  
could truly be held by the iron. An iron-bound spell was extremely  
difficult to cast for most mages, but worth it to those who could, for  
the iron's resistance to magic would then fight the dispelling of the  
power it held.  
  
This pattern of silent dinners eaten with burning eyes, late nights  
spent drawing on parchment, mornings spent sketching on onionskin, katas  
watched by the Lady, and long days spent slowly increasing the power of  
the room continued for nearly two months before all was in readiness.  
  
Finally, Ranma came to the Lady Alana one morning, and told her that he  
was ready to attempt to free her. He took her to the room he had  
prepared, and in spite of herself, she was in awe at the power it  
exuded. It was powerfully warded against every manner of outside  
interference or scrying, and large enough to hold her true form.   
  
She could see the immense power held in each of the spiritual batteries.  
She was aghast at it, in fact. Each held nearly as much ki and magical  
energy as Ranma's body, and she had never seen him as exhausted as he  
should have been from filling them. She realized he must have been  
filling them a little each day. There were ten of them, so this room  
held more than ten times the raw magical power and spiritual energy that  
Ranma held himself.  
  
There were numerous cushions in a heap on the floor, and he bade her  
make herself comfortable upon them. When she did so, he sat before her,  
on the stone floor, and she noticed with surprise that the stone he sat  
upon was itself heavily ensorcelled. He pulled his calves onto his  
thighs, lotus style, and began to meditate. In moments, his ki began to  
flicker, blue tongues of flame licking about him, as his eyes  
burned with blue fire.   
  
Ranma released his hold on his aura then, and once again, it filled the  
room. Alana stifled her gasp of awe... his ki was easily dragon   
strength, and he had no dragon-blood, she knew that. She knew he had  
grown steadily more powerful... she hadn't realized how very much,  
though. She still didn't truly know. He had not yet released the  
eleventh dan, and she could not see the power bound up in it. He focused  
his sight, looking beyond the physical, until he could again see her  
bonds. He could see the dragon curling in her ki. It seemed stronger and  
more vibrant as it bathed in the light of his own, and the chains that  
held it seemed even blacker in contrast.  
  
The chains reached out from her to lace about him as well, as they bound  
her to him. He looked deeper, until he could see where the threads were  
coming from. He selected a single knot, and examined it, seeing in his  
mind the innumerable onion skin overlays that spoke of how the female  
threads might mingle and strengthen the male threads.  
  
He reached out with his ki, tapping lightly at the obvious weak point.  
He knew this would not succeed, and indeed it did not, but he watched  
carefully, how the knot began to fall apart, and where and how it seemed  
held together. He focused again on the onion skins in his mind,  
considering which ones might result in that kind of a pull, in those  
resisting forces. He tapped again, at another point, a lesser weak  
point, and again watched the interplay of the visual threads, gaining  
clues as to where the feminine threads must be.   
  
He teased steadily at the knot touching here and there, watching the  
reactions, searching for clues to the invisible threads that held it all  
together. Finally, he began trying in earnest to break the knot,  
picturing in his mind the complete tangle, male and female threads, and  
guessing at where the weak point must be.   
  
He could see that he was closer now. As he hit these guessed points, the  
knot came ever closer to falling apart, but always it resisted in the  
end. Finally, after hours of exploration, he concluded that the final  
weak point must be located amongst the female strands, where he could  
not see to touch it.  
  
Refusing to even consider feeling despair, he moved on to another knot.  
Surely they could not all be thus. Again he began the delicate process,  
tapping the knot here, and there, and watching as it tried to fall  
apart, but was held together. By the time he had given up on that knot  
as well, he was feeling weak and drained.  
  
He reached out and released the first of the power stones. He bit his  
tongue, and tasted his blood in his mouth as he fought to stifle a  
scream. The energy, fresh and rich, burned through him like a fire,  
through limbs that were too tired to contain it. He lost some of it,  
burned off to the air, before he regained control, gasping for breath.  
  
He fought down the pain, and grimly selected another knot, that seemed  
to have more male fibers, less room for the female threads to  
intertwine, and began again.   
  
Over and over he repeated this process, and each time, his body grew  
weaker, as the fresh energy raced through his tired system, ever on the  
verge of collapse. When he released the tenth stone, tears were openly  
running down his face, but his eyes still burned with blue fire.  
  
Knowing this was his last chance, and he was failing, he desperately  
tried to reach deeper. He pushed his ki sight deeper and deeper,   
striving to reach the beneath the layers of male threads. If he could  
just see the source of the female power, he could trace it upwards, into  
her bonds. He sunk ever deeper, and as he did so, he slowly released  
the eleventh dan, giving him the power to reach further still, searching  
for the ultimate source of the power, until finally he reached too far.  
  
He lost himself in the immense scale of what he was sensing, the deep  
throbbing power that lay far beneath the tapestry of his world. It was  
vast and grand, and he was nothing compared to it. Looking on it, he  
ceased to exist, and became one with this final ultimate power, the  
power that lay behind all that was, that went beyond this world, or the  
world he came from, that lay beyond all possible worlds, beyond the  
planes where the gods dwelt, beyond the pits where demons warred, beyond  
everything, and he lost himself in it, until finally he heard a voice, a  
single soft voice, gently calling his name, and he remembered finally,  
who he was, and why he was, and for its own reasons, the power released  
him.  
  
He came back to himself then, for just a moment. His eyes suddenly  
cleared and he could see the Lady cradling him in her arms. "You should  
have let me go," he said in a harsh whisper, the words tearing his  
throat as he spoke, "you would have been free, Lady." Then the darkness  
took him, and he fell into blessed sleep, as his body struggled to  
recover from his ordeal. He did not feel the Lady's tears on his face as  
she held him to her.  
  
She had known that he would never give up, unless he finally failed,  
utterly and completely, and so she had let him try, hoping that when the  
time finally came, he would be able to move on, to live, finally, for  
himself, and not for her. Had she ever imagined that he would be so  
selfless as to willingly accept death to free her, she would have never  
let him try. "How could I live," she asked softly, knowing he could not  
hear her, "if I let you die for me?"  
  
She took him in her arms, and lifted him up, and carried him to his bed.  
Then she called out, in her mind, to her sister, and knowing that she  
was coming, the Lady sat there by his bed, holding his hand. He looked  
dead, she thought, were it not for the slow rise and fall of his chest.  
His skin was nearly black all over, and in places it was burnt and  
charred, split from the heat, the searing and charring reaching even to  
the bone.   
  
She had felt him go beyond her, for an endless moment, and when he had,  
his body had burst into flames, real flames, as it burned from the  
inside. It was a miracle he had not died. She could feel that he had  
been changed. There was a fire burning in him still, that she could not  
put out. Not a fever, really. It was more like a fire in his ki. She  
didn't know what it was, or what to do about it. So she just sat, and  
held his hand, hoping.  
  
  
  
  



	21. Sacrifice

Sacrifice  
  
  
When Sylie arrived, she found the castle in a bit of disarray. The Lady  
had been by Ranma's side for four hours, by that point. Sylie was  
shocked by his condition. It took her a long time to manage to get Alana  
calmed down enough to tell her what had happened. She was appalled, but  
truly impressed. Maybe the boy really did love her.  
  
Sylie did what she could for the boy, healing the worst of the wounds,  
and bandaging the rest. Then she proceeded to take over the management  
of the castle, to ensure an orderly running of the household. She took  
care of everything the Lady Alana usually did, and then she took care of  
Alana, forcing her to eat, and rest. If Sylie hadn't been there, she  
figured Alana would have sat by his bed until she collapsed.  
  
Each day, Sylie spent some time trying to heal the boy, and draw him  
back from the darkness. She guessed that on his own he would have  
recovered in under a month. His powers of recovery were truly  
remarkable, but sorely tasked by the massive draining of both ki and  
magical energy that he had gone through.  
  
It was a week later that he finally awakened, late in the night. The  
Lady was only just aware of his eyes opening, before they flicked to  
her, with a blue fire, and he turned away, curled into a ball, crying.  
He had failed her. He had given everything he had to free her, and in  
the end, sought to embrace death to free her, and even in that he had  
failed. The pain of this ultimate failure shattered the walls of ice he  
had built against his emotions. She had not seen him cry for nearly four  
years, but now his body was racked with sobs that seemed torn from the  
depths of his soul, and his pain and anguish seemed to rise from him  
like waves of heat.  
  
Lady Alana stood, and sat on the bed, pulling her legs up, and lifted  
him onto her lap. He finally looked whole again. His hair, frazzled and  
crisped, which had broken and crumbled at her touch that first night,  
was silky and strong. His skin was smooth and unbroken, and light again.  
She held him, and rocked him back and forth through his tears, as she  
spoke quietly to him.  
  
"Ranma, had I known you would go so far, I would not have let you try.  
Don't ever try to leave me alone again, Ranma. Not like that. Please. My  
freedom is not worth your life." He tried to protest, but she lay a slim  
finger on his lips, and he fell silent, except for his quiet sobs. "You  
nearly died. I know you tried. I will never forget what you did for me.  
It shames me, that you would go so far, and yet I never told you the  
truth because I feared it would be too hard for you." He sat up at that,  
looking into her eyes.   
  
"I knew from the very beginning why you could not see some magic. I know  
you've learned, on your own, though I never told you. But you still  
don't know why. I do, and I did then. I am ashamed I doubted that you  
had the strength to hear this."  
  
"Never, Lady. Never be that. I _am_ weak. I failed you." Ranma  
protested.  
  
"No, child. It was I who failed you. Never have I seen such strength as  
you have, strength of spirit and heart, and yet I doubted you, and it  
shames me. Now hush, and let me tell you now, what I should have told  
you long ago." He stared up at her, his mind blank. He had no idea what  
she was going to tell him. He knew why he had failed, knew his  
blindness. But what could she know, that went beyond that?  
  
"When you first came to me, Ranma, I felt a problem in your mind. I  
thought that if I gave you my love, I might, over time, be able heal  
you. I failed... I failed you, Ranma. I failed you, far worse than you  
failed me." He looked into her eyes, and grasped her soft hands in his,  
shaking his head in vehement denial of her words. She had not failed  
him. She had always known, always been right, about what he needed to  
learn and do. It was he who had failed her, failed to learn as  
completely as he should, been unable to free her. But she freed her  
hand, and laid a finger upon his lips again, and he remained silent, and  
let her speak.  
  
"There is in every person, Ranma, a balance of male and female, the yin   
and yang your Tai Chi master spoke of. Your ki is in balance, but your  
spirit and mind are not. You are only half-awake, Ranma. When your  
father tried to force you to be a man, when he beat you for showing  
emotion, or crying, or being polite, he kept forcing everything that  
was feminine in your spirit and mind away, into the depths of your mind   
where you could not reach them. Its like he just reached out and tore  
you in two, and now your female half is locked in your mind."   
  
Tears started rolling down her cheeks as she spoke now. He wanted to  
comfort her, to stop her tears, but he had to hear this, had to let her  
speak. "Perhaps, had I done more when you first came to me, I might  
have been able to simply heal you. But I was a fool, and thought my love  
would be enough, be strong enough. It wasn't. As the years have passed,  
Ranma, your female half has grown in the depths of your mind, has healed  
about itself, as have you, and it will be no simple thing to rejoin  
you. It is like you are two separate people now, male and female...  
like, like brother and sister. Only she is trapped, sleeping in the  
darkness of your mind."  
  
"You mean...," Ranma found it hard to continue. He understood, alright,  
or thought he did. Because of Oyaji, he had a sister, trapped in his  
mind, but if she awoke, since she was him... well, he could just imagine  
what it would be like if he suddenly woke up and was a girl. She would  
hate him. "Oh, Kami-sama. That's terrible. Lady, how can I free her?  
What must I do?"  
  
"I can awaken her, Ranma, or teach you how to do so, but you must  
understand that if I do, you will have to share your body with her. It  
will be hard on her... she will be a young woman, but in a man's body,   
with a man's memories."  
  
"Lady... Is it possible to set her truly free? To give her a body, that  
she not be trapped in mine?"  
  
"But Ranma... Don't you see? She IS you! If I awaken her, it would be  
for you to get to know her, that eventually you could accept her, and  
become a whole person again. If you can achieve that, then you might be  
able to cast the spell. If I split you apart, you could never become  
whole. Each of you would always be only half a person."  
  
"Will it not be cruel to her, to trap her in the body of a man? I would  
not like to be trapped in the body of a woman. Even if she is me, how  
can I do that to her? Is there a spell I can cast, that would change  
this body into that of a girl for her, for a time?"  
  
"No Ranma. You know that those spells cannot truly change you. They only  
change your outward appearance. You would still be a man inside, and she  
would feel that."  
  
"Then is there nothing I can do? I want to set her free, but I don't  
want to torture her!"   
  
"There is... a place... on your world, called Jusenkyo. There is a  
spring there called the Nyannichuan. If you bathe in that spring, then  
cold water will give you the body of a young woman, and hot water will  
return you to your own. It will not manage the changing of the mind  
though. It would be up to you and her to do that. If you do it, and she  
becomes too frightened and retreats, or you or she is sleeping when the  
change occurs, you might each be forced to deal with the other body."  
  
"But she would know that she simply needs water to get her body back.  
That would work. But what about you? You can send me there... I can send  
myself back. But I cannot take you with me. I cannot let you die for  
her."  
  
"You could cast a stasis spell. I can teach you how. I can survive a  
week without you... But for this, it might be a year or more before you  
akieved sufficient wholeness to cast the spell. In stasis, I will wait  
as long as you need. When you are ready, you could come back for me."  
  
"I think I already know how, Lady. I did it once before. I will do this,  
because I must. I will go, but I swear, Lady, I will return and free  
you!" 


End file.
